


The Supercut Chronicles: Anthology of Us

by Kimberly21570



Category: Sterling & April, Teenage Bounty Hunters (TV), stepril
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 42,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29126133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimberly21570/pseuds/Kimberly21570
Summary: A series of short-ish, first-person narratives from Sterling and April’s alternating points of view, chronicling their story from canon into the future we all know they’re destined to share together, despite the Netflix penchant for cancelling the best shows on their service. The individual chronicles will include some of the “in-between” moments we missed on-screen during the first season, as well as an overarching narrative of their current lives that will ultimately take us several years into the future. The characters will, at times, connect with characters from other ongoing fan fictions I have in the works, however the central focus of these stories will remain on Sterling and April.
Relationships: April Stevens/Sterling Wesley, Sterling Wesley/April Stevens
Comments: 19
Kudos: 74





	1. Supercut—April

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers and Other Assorted Ramblings: As if I don’t already have enough stories going right now, here comes Stepril… 
> 
> The characters Sterling and Blair Wesley and their parents, Debbie and Anderson, April and John Stevens, Luke Creswell, Hannah B., Ezequiel, and Willingham Academy, were created by Kathleen Jordan and are, unfortunately, owned by Netflix. 
> 
> Rights to the song Supercut by Lorde from her sophomore album Melodrama belong to Sony/ATV Publishing.
> 
> No copyright infringement intended with regard to Netflix, Sony, or any other entity. With the exception of brief references to episode content, the dialogue and story content in these scenes are original. Written for fun, not profit. All other standard disclaimers apply. 
> 
> Rating: The opening submission to this series is rated PG, but overall, The Supercut Chronicles will reach NC-17. 
> 
> Individual Synopsis: The opening Chronicle, entitled Supercut, begins shortly after their graduation from undergrad, giving us a brief snapshot of them before taking us on a journey back to the Spring of their junior year at Willingham Academy—you know, the school that looks sort of like the Disney version of Gotham City afterhours, and boasts being “Prayer Conditioned”? I still groan every time I see that on digital billboard in the opening scene, but… I digress.
> 
> Final Notes: As many of you already know, I tend to approach storytelling through flashbacks, thus, it will be important to pay attention to the dates, times, and locations as we move forward (and flash back) through the anthology of their shared experiences. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Kimberly

**The Supercut Chronicles: Anthology of Us**

Copyright November 2020

“ _Wild and florescent, come home to my heart…_ ”

— Lorde, _Supercut_

Chapter 1.1— _Supercut_ :

**_The Prism, a BGRC Property in Provincetown, Massachusetts—Saturday, June 14, 2025, 4:00 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time_ **

I’ve never been one for sentimentality or hyperbole, but… hands down, last night was the most amazing night of my entire fucking life. Better than clinching the honor of Valedictorian when I graduated from Willingham Academy. Better than the day I received my acceptance letter to Harvard undergrad… or even Yale Law, for that matter. And better than graduating Summa Cum Laude with my Political Science degree just a few days ago. Even better than the day I finally stood up to my father and told him straight to his lying, homophobic face to piss off because I didn’t need anything from him anymore. The added digs that I was a registered Democrat, and an out and proud lesbian were fucking awesome, but still, even that didn’t come close to this.

No, the only two things that could ever come close to topping last night are the day Sterling Wesley first kissed me, making every single tween dream and adolescent fantasy I’d ever had come true—and this morning, because she’s naked in my arms right now, her breath warm against my skin after the most incredible night of lovemaking, and I have never felt happier, safer, or closer to another human being in every single imaginable way, in my entire life.

And no, of course it wasn’t our first time together. Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve fucked more times than I can count since that first kiss in the Fellowship office at Willingham, back in the eleventh grade. God, she was so brave to kiss me like that! And yeah, we’ve even made love before, so… I guess I need to amend my previous assertion: There are only _three_ things that could ever come close to topping last night, and the third is the first time we made love. It was… incredible, everything I ever dreamed it would be, but still, nothing has ever compared to what we shared last night, just like no one will ever compare to Sterling Wesley.

She always speaks so highly of me, telling anyone who will listen how great I am, but Sterling, she’s the one who deserves all the accolades. She… she’s so incredibly amazing, and she has absolutely no idea. She’s kind and considerate. Warm and funny. Completely ridiculous. And so incredibly brave. Not to mention, she’s the smartest person I know. She’s unwaveringly honest and loyal, and an absolute force to be reckoned with when it comes to forensics where she is unnervingly steady and articulate in the heat of a stimulating debate. And yet, she’s so adorably anxious, like a little girl at Christmas when she’s excited, especially in those sweet, stolen moments with me back in high school.

And god, she’s beautiful. So beautiful it makes my heart hurt just thinking about her; and looking at her, it takes my breath away. Beyond cheesy, I know, but that doesn’t make it any less true. She’s all of these things and so much more, and yet, she’s the most unpretentious, down-to-earth person I’ve ever known. How is it even possible to be so humble?

Speaking of humility, it’s most definitely not my strong suit, though thanks to her, I’ve been put in my place more times than I can count. The thing is though, it’s never in a way that leaves me feeling less than, which, ironically enough, is whole reason why I’m such a compulsive overachiever, and so often pretend to have more confidence than I actually do.

Walking Cliché, thy name is April Stevens.

Lucky for me, she sees right through my hubris, and into the heart of who I really am. She’s the only one who ever could or ever will, because she’s the one I trust wholeheartedly. She challenges me in ways I never even imagined, and I am a better person thanks to the gift of Sterling Wesley in my life. I thank God for her every single day.

I probably sound like a lovesick fool, but I’m not the romantic type at all. Never have been—except, maybe with her.

Okay, definitely with her.

So… fine, given the fact that there’s never really been anyone else for me _but_ her, I guess I am the romantic type, though it pains me immensely to admit it. But one thing’s for sure: I don’t look at the world through rose-colored glasses, or any dumb bullshit like that, so I know the odds are against us. I mean, do high school sweethearts ever really work out?

Yeah, we made it through a four-year separation during undergrad—me at Harvard, and her at Smith. But I still have three years of law school at Yale, and Sterling is headed off to Prague at summer’s end to teach English and Spanish as part of a mission outreach because, well… because she’s Sterling. That’s one of the things I love most about her: her beautiful, empathetic heart. She’s always giving, even to those who might not deserve it—like me.

But I digress…

Anyway, I have moments where the cynic in me wonders how things will turn out, but we’ve been together for nearly six years, and despite the ups and downs of coming out to our conservative Christian families, and the distance we endured during undergrad, we’ve been happier than either of us ever thought possible. So anytime I feel those worries and doubts creeping in, I stop and count my blessings, and Sterling Wesley is always at the top of my list. Not because I love her, but because no matter what life has brought our way, she remains true to herself, and true to me. And there was no better proof of that for me than the day she risked the possibility of our _Someday_ , for the sake of being the only person in my entire life who was ever completely honest with me…

**_Willingham Academy, Atlanta, Georgia—Wednesday, March 25, 2020, 2:45 p.m. Eastern Standard Time_ **

The final bell rings. I quickly gather my things and edge my way around the throngs of overly chatty teenagers that swarm the Willingham hallways immediately thereafter. Somehow, I’ve managed to survive another day of seeing Sterling Wesley’s beautiful face in every single fucking one of my classes. She’s always been there, of course, usually sitting in incredibly close proximity, despite the fact that I’ve been an absolute jerk to her for most of the past six years. Not that I minded in the least, of course—her being so close, I mean. In all honesty, I secretly love having her so near. But that’s a story for another day. 

Anyway, she’s always been there since our similar interests and goals have had us sharing most of the same classes since junior high. It’s just harder not to notice her now that I know how tender her touch can be, how soft her lips, how completely amazing she smells, and how hot the fire she can stoke deep in my belly with nothing more than casual glance or a soft sigh. And god, she looks incredible today! How anyone could make these godawful uniforms look that striking is beyond me, but she does it—Every. Single. Day.

I force that thought aside before it leads me astray, and hastening my stride, I pass through the hallways swiftly, praying all the while that no one will call out to me. Thankfully, they don’t, and I breath a deep sigh of relief as I burst through those heavy wooden doors and out into the courtyard, desperate for escape. And finally, I fill my lungs with the fresh, crisp Spring air, inhaling that sweet freedom. I’m so grateful that it’s Wednesday and we don’t have Fellowship today since tonight is youth night at church. Thank you, Sweet Jesus, they never make us do both in the same day. Hopefully, I can be convincing enough to fool my parents into believing I’m sick. The thought of having to go there tonight really does make me want to hurl, so that’s an auspicious start, and it saves me from having to lie.

The thought that Sterling would be proud of me crosses my mind, and I smile a little to myself at how much that actually means to me. But the thought is fleeting, and it’s quickly followed by the harsh reminder that I’m a fool for ever letting her go. It’s a thought I’ve grappled with since the moment I walked away from her that night at the lock-in, and the more time that passes, the more difficult it is to ignore. The months since his return haven’t exactly been the _Camelot_ Daddy promised they would be. In fact, they’ve been an absolute nightmare, and I’ve grown nearly bone-weary with regret for choosing him over her.

But how could she ever forgive me? 

Halfway across the courtyard I remember that Hannah B. drove to school this morning, and my heart sinks as I stop in my tracks. So much for my surreptitious escape. Hannah B. is awesome, don’t get me wrong, but I really just wanted to be alone with my thoughts, and memories, and an endless loop of _Supercut_ tonight.

_We were wild and florescent, come home to my heart…_

Honest to god, I don’t think there’s a more perfect song for us in this moment, so needless to say, Lorde has been keeping me company for months now with the saddest breakup song I’ve ever heard. And yet, somehow, listening to it gives me hope for us, that we might actually get our _Someday_. It’s twisted logic, I know, but I’m in desperate need of something to hold onto, so lately denial has been my closest companion. 

Cursing under my breath, I turn on my heel with a plan to go find Hannah B. so that I can expedite my egress, and before I can take a step, I find Sterling directly in my line of sight, looking like a vision, of course.

 _Fuck my life_.

 _But also, god, she’s beautiful._ I could look at her all day.

I offer a crooked smile, and her lips tremble when she smiles back, but it’s clear from the determination in her stride that she’s on a mission to find me. My body wars between panic and excitement, the closer she draws near, but I don’t retreat because just the mere thought that she wants to talk to me makes my heart flutter in my chest.

“Umm… Can we, maybe talk? she asks, as she approaches me with a look in her eyes that I’ve never seen before. But it’s the tentativeness in her voice that catches me off-guard. Ever since… the day she kissed me, and turned my world upside down, she hasn’t been like this—nervous and… _blinky_ —with me. It scares me a little, and my instinct is to run, but I don’t turn away.

I can’t.

Because it’s _her_.

Shifting my weight, I push my blazer back, jut out a hip, and plant my hand firmly on it, purposely taking up space to make myself feel more secure. And then I raise an eyebrow. “What’s up?” I ask, trying to sound casual despite my increasing anxiety. My heart is racing, and not in the way it usually does when Sterling Wesley is in my personal space.

“Not here,” she says, as she reaches out, taking my hand. And before I can protest, the familiar warmth of her touch makes me forget that we’re in the middle of the Willingham courtyard, with a few hundred other students milling around, some of whom—Ezequiel and Hannah B., for instance—would find it rather… peculiar… that she’s holding my hand. The rest would use it as fodder for gossip, and within minutes my secret could become legend, my reputation, tarnished. 

Oddly enough though, I couldn’t possibly care less.

I’ve been miserable without her all these months, and Daddy’s bullshit lies certainly haven’t helped. He’s still trying to spin the whole sex worker situation into something akin to him being that woman’s Savior, rather than her abuser, and it makes me sick. _He_ makes me sick. I don’t know how my mother could ever stand even being in the same room with him, let alone sharing his bed, but I guess that’s none of my business.

Still, he’s my father. What am I supposed to do? 

When we get to her car, she opens the passenger side door for me. “Will you… will you get in with me?” she asks, sounding almost sad at the thought that I might deny her.

I never could.

Turning away from her kiss that night at the lock-in was the hardest “No” I’ve ever said—and the biggest one I’ve ever regretted. 

I pause for a moment to look into her eyes, and realize she’s still holding my hand. Nothing ever felt better. Well, almost nothing…

Anyway, I’m pretty sure my face flushed a little at the flash of memory from the last time we were alone in her car, and it makes me feel vulnerable to her. But I don’t care about that either, because she’s looking at me with those eyes, and they’re filled with tenderness, and anticipation, and maybe a little dread, which I choose to ignore in favor of the more positive things I see reflecting back at me. That’s so weird for me, choosing to focus on the positive; but then again… Sterling.

It takes me a moment to find my voice, and then I hear myself asking, “What about Blair?”

The corners of her mouth curl into that smile, and her eyes twinkle a little as she says, “She’s hanging out with her latest… toy-friend, and we're...”

“Did you just say _toy-_ friend?” I ask, enunciating the first syllable as I interrupt her mid-sentence, and she laughs in response, and my heart soars. The sound of her laughter is music to my soul. I crave it. I crave _her_.

"When the label fits…” she teasingly intones. “Anyway, we’re supposed to meet up at youth tonight, so I’ve got hours to kill.” Her eyes shift away from me, and suddenly she looks nervous. “I mean, not that I think of spending time with you as killing time or anything, because I totally don’t. I love spending time with you, it’s just that I’m not in a hurry or anything, and…”

“Sterling—,” I say firmly, drawing her out of her ramble.

“Yeah?” she says, looking at me sheepishly.

“Just open the door,” I say, thoroughly amused but trying hard not to grin.

She lets out a giddy squeal, and despite my resolve, I feel the corners of my own lips twitch into a grin, and the next thing I know, she’s closing the car door with me safely tucked inside. My heart begins to flutter with anticipation this time, rather than pound anxiously, and for a moment I forget that we’re not still together, and Sterling Wesley is not about to get into this car with me and kiss me senseless.

God, how I wish she would…

Once she’s inside the car with me, she locks the doors and turns toward me, a fretful expression on her face. That’s one thing about Sterling Wesley: it’s rare that anyone who knows her doesn’t know what she’s feeling.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, resisting the urge to reach for her hand, or touch her face. _God, I love her face._

“Do you mind if we like, go somewhere more private?” she asks, almost timidly.

Now I’m really concerned. “Did something happen, Sterl?”

“Yes,” she answers, but her face is sending a message not to panic despite the level of anxiety in her tone. “But it’s not what you’re probably thinking. I’m fine,” she assures me. “I just… I need to tell you something important, and I don’t want to say it… here.”

Without question, I find myself nodding my agreement to go elsewhere. But I have no idea where that might be. We certainly can’t go to my house because, my dad. And she probably won’t want to go to hers either. Though, maybe I’m wrong about that. I mean, we did build our temple in her dad’s woodworking shop, so…

While I’m busy overthinking things, she’s putting on her seatbelt, which reminds me to buckle my own. But the moment I snap it into place, my thoughts snap back to that night—the way she unfastened this same buckle in a fevered attempt to get closer to me when things became heated between us, and we somehow tumbled into the back seat, where we nearly…

Swept up in the memory, my body reacts and I lose my train of thought, and before I can ask or make a suggestion, she turns back to me with offering a suggestion of her own. 

“The Pond?” she asks with a nonchalant shrug. But her eyes twinkle when she says it, and I don’t even have to ask which pond she means, because I know. It’s _our pond_ —the one where we spent those few blissful nights between the Fun Zone and our make-out session here in the parking lot. It’s close enough to enjoy the entire evening and still get back before curfew; yet far enough that other Willingham students wouldn’t go there—at least not on a school night. And it’s secluded near the back, so we could cuddle on a quilt under a tree, or walk along the waters’ edge, holding hands, talking, and… kissing, which we did a lot of in a very short period of time, without worrying about being seen or recognized.

I feel the left corner of my mouth tip upward into the crooked smile she finds so alluring—I know because she told me so—and find myself saying, “Sure,” despite the fleeting thought that this is probably a monumentally bad idea.

She lets out an excited little squeak that I find completely adorable, accompanied by that smile that’s equal parts infuriating and endearing. And then she steps on the break as she reaches toward the steering column, pressing the electronic push-button to start the car.

It takes a moment for the ready light to illuminate on the instrument panel. Seconds later, her phone connects to the Bluetooth, and when it does, the media player automatically picks up where it left off…

_We were wild and florescent, come home to my heart…_

The sound of Lorde’s voice, the depth of those lyrics, seem to impact us both with equal force, and she turns to me, tears filling our eyes as it registers to us that we’re not going there for a date this time, and her smile quickly evaporates, breaking my heart along the way.

Everything in me wants to reach out for her, to hold her, to take it all back, and I’m forced to acknowledge, if only to myself, that I am the reason this song is so bittersweet for us. I also realize that she has no idea how torn up I am inside over what I’ve done, or how much this song has sustained me all these months, and so instead of moving toward her, I withdraw inside myself, the way I always do when things feel too overwhelming.

When she notices the expression on my face, she exhales a soft sigh, and gazes at me with those eyes. “I know… we’re not, like together or anything, and… and this is definitely not a date, so I would totally understand if you said no, but I was wondering, I don’t know, like… do you think maybe I could… hold your hand while we drive?” she requests. “It’s just the two of us. No one will…”

She’s rambling in that infuriatingly adorable way that’s just so completely Sterling, and her request is so sweet, so pure, that before she even finishes presenting her argument, I find myself reaching for her hand. And by the time she manages the word “…know.” our fingers are intertwined, and I feel calmer and more content than I have since that last night we spent together in the back seat of this car. It seems like a lifetime ago, and yet… I can still feel her hands and mouth on my skin, the way her fingertips sank into my shoulders as she lowered me down onto the back seat, her body pressing firmly against mine, like it was happening right in this very moment.

God, how I wish it was…

She smiles at me, and this time, despite the tears, it’s that genuine Sterling smile. It melts my heart and makes it race all at the same time, and I’m forced to resist the urge to unbuckle this seatbelt, thrust myself into her lap, and kiss her senseless. If it weren’t still broad daylight out, I wouldn’t bother to resist at all.

And that’s when I realize I’m in trouble.

A moment later, I think perhaps I’m home free, because she’s shifting her gaze between our hands and the gear shift, looking befuddled. I’m forced to fight the urge to chuckle at her, because it’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

And then her eyes light so brightly I almost swear I actually see a lightbulb appear above her head. While I’m trying hard not to laugh out loud at the image, she reaches across her body with her left arm, putting the car in gear, and as she pulls out of the parking space, her next move reminds me I’m in deep shit: She smiles at me, lifts my hand, and lightly kisses my knuckles, and I am powerless to stop the soft smile that plays across my lips.

I don’t dare pull away from her. I want this, I want _her_ , far too much to pretend otherwise. And when she gives my hand a light squeeze as she drops our joined hands down into her lap, I relax into the seat, content to ride beside her wherever she might take me, knowing in my heart that this is exactly where I belong. 

* * *

**_Duck Pond Park, Atlanta, Georgia—Wednesday, March 25, 2020, 3:00 p.m. Eastern Standard Time_ **

By the time we get to our Pond, I’ve halfway convinced myself that we could still do this. That, despite my father being the supreme homophobic asshole that he is, Sterling and I could make this work. As I contemplate how we might make it happen, I remember that night outside the school library, when I asked for an impromptu debate on the issue, and despite my very well thought out, incontrovertible arguments, she somehow managed to match my dance steps perfectly, and her impassioned closing argument had me absolutely convinced that we could conquer any obstacle, no matter how impossible, as long as we were together. Not only did she make me believe, she made me _want to believe_ , and that was the greatest win of all—for both of us.

In that moment, I felt drawn to her by some inescapable force. Not that I wanted to escape or anything. I wanted to be there, to be with her. And when I kissed her, I actually felt that bravery coursing through my veins. A moment later, when she took my hand, our fingers entwining as she offered to drive me home, I felt it bursting in my heart and finally, life made perfect sense. 

I’m lost in the memory of all that happened in the backseat of this car before she actually took me home that night, when I’m startled back into the present by the sound of her voice.

“What are you thinking about so intently?” she asks with a soft laugh, and it’s only then that I realize we’re in our usual parking spot at the far end of our pond. And then my thoughts shift briefly to how strange it might seem to think of anything as “ours,” given the brevity of our romantic entanglement—if only the idea of “Us as a thing” didn’t feel so completely inevitable.

I feel my face flush a little, though I’m uncertain whether it’s in response to my impending answer… or my own aforementioned realization. “Honestly?” I query, buying a moment’s time to figure it out, before deciding it doesn’t really matter.

She chuckles. “Of course.”

I avert my eyes as I feel the tips of my ears begin to burn. “I was… thinking about the last time we were alone in this car,” I confess.

“Yeah, that was a, uh… a really great night, wasn’t it?” she asks rhetorically, and I smile as I see the color rising in her cheeks, painting them the most beautiful shade of cerise.

“I miss you, Sterling. I miss _us_ ,” I hear myself whispering before I can reason myself out of it. It’s daring, I know. Some might even call it ballsy, after the way I treated her at the lock-in that night. But I don’t care. I miss her terribly, and I’m not above groveling if need be.

Not for her, anyway.

I hear a soft sigh of relief as she peers at me through fluttering eyelashes, and my heart skips a beat as she quietly confesses, “I miss us too, April. So, so much…”

I’m honestly not sure which one of us moves first, but my next awareness is her mouth, soft and warm against my own. Her hands are on my face. So, so tenderly. And her tongue, while not the least bit tentative, moves so sweetly against my own, and the combination, it’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever felt in my entire life, and effortlessly, I am lost in her—just as I was the afternoon we shared those first kisses. They were passionate, eager, at first, and then they were, oh, so tender, and I remember how in awe I felt that she was actually kissing _me_ , how breathless she left me, and how desperately I wished she would never stop.

If only we hadn’t been interrupted…

And now, as our kisses deepen, I hear myself moan against her mouth as my hands move from her hair, and down her neck to the lapels of her Willingham blazer, where they boldly slip beneath the fabric to push it from her shoulders. She smiles against my mouth as she moves her arms, helping me to extricate her from her jacket, and the next thing I know, my blazer is joining hers as seat décor, my seatbelt ceases to constrain me, and her hands are on my waist, pulling me to her, as my fingertips fumble with the buttons on her crisp, blue Oxford, and I’m thanking god, or the universe, or whatever, that she chose to wear this particular shirt today, and not just because it brings out the color of her beautiful blue eyes, turning them into a sexy sort of smoky gray that’s making my body feel things it really shouldn’t be feeling—at least not in the broad light of day.

And yet, I do feel. I feel a lot, and I’m powerless to stop it as her tongue scrapes against the roof of my mouth, and I release what could only be described as a growl into hers.

“I want this, Sterling,” I somehow manage to say, my voice low and brimming with desire as I slip my hand beneath her shirt, delighting in the warmth of her bare skin and the soft sounds of approval she makes as I touch her there, my fingertips digging into her flesh as I pull her impossibly closer “I want _you_ …”

“I want you too, April. I wanna be with you so much,” she whispers breathlessly to me, even as I feel her heart breaking. “But… not until I tell you what I came here to tell you. Not until you know the whole truth.”

I can feel my brow furrow and see the reality of it reflected on her face as she breaks away from our kiss. “The truth?” I parrot, sounding as confused as I felt.

“Yes,” she says resolutely, though her voice is quavering as she attempts to catch her breath.

And suddenly, I begin to panic. “Please tell me you and Luke aren’t back together,” I practically beg, my own heart shattering at the mere thought.

“Oh, gosh, no, April, I would never…” she answers quickly. “Well, I mean, I thought about it, for like, a hot second, and then I realized that Blair was right, and that I shouldn’t go back to him just because he’s safe, but… like, omigosh, she was so, so wrong about the feeling like home thing. He doesn’t feel like home to me at all. He never did. But _You do_ , and…”

Suddenly, she stops babbling, seeming to realize what she’d just said, and in my amusement, I can’t help but smile at her, despite my nervousness about what it is she needs so desperately to tell me. I mean, if it’s not about Luke, then what else could it be?

But I don’t have time to contemplate that because she’s biting her lip and looking at me with those eyes, the expression in them telling me she’s holding her breath just waiting for my reaction. And then I’m blushing, as I avert my gaze like I did that day at the Fun Zone, when she admitted that she thinks about me all the time, and that it makes her maxilla go numb. “I, um… I—I feel like… _home_ … t-to you?”

She reaches for me, pressing her fingertips to my chin so gently they feel like feathers, and yet they’re strong as she lifts upward, coaxing my gaze directly into hers. I follow without protest because… it’s _her_ , and… I don’t know how to… _not_ anymore. It’s a good thing she has no idea how much power she holds over me—not that she would ever use it against me—but if she did, I would be totally screwed.

But she’s Sterling, and unlike me, she’s inherently good, and I’m… not, which is fine because, well, I’m April Freakin’ Stevens, after all. People don’t flock to me because I’m likable, they flock because they admire, fear, and loathe me in equal measure. And you know what they say: Keep your friends close—and your enemies closer. So, I keep them close—and scared and feeling inferior—out of a need for self-preservation. If any of them ever figure out my secret, they’ll be too scared to rat me out. And I mean, closeted or not, I do have a reputation to uphold. 

My head is spinning, but I lose track of my thoughts again the moment she speaks. “Nothing has ever felt as safe, or as right, as being with you, April Stevens,” she whispers to me so sincerely that it makes my heart clench in my chest. And though I can’t manage to form the words, I have no choice but to acknowledge that my heart feels the exact same way about her.

Sensing my inner struggle, she saves me from my own emotional ineptitude by leaning in, kissing me so tenderly that I swear I might actually die from happiness right this very moment. Except that I don’t want to die—I want to keep kissing her. Forever. And suddenly I feel my hands on her face, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss.

She doesn’t resist. 

Time stands still, and I have no idea how long we’ve been kissing, but when we finally come up for air, I find myself straddling her thighs with the driver’s side seat fully reclined, our clothing in disarray, both of us breathless and grinning like giddy fools.

Instinctively, she pulls me to her, and I allow myself to settle against her body, halfway on top of her, and the rest pressed against her side. Her body is long, and lithe, deceptively strong—exactly the way I remember it—and my own body reacts to the ripple of her muscles as she moves beneath me. I think we’re both a little taken by surprise at the raucous groan that escapes my lips when she shifts her left thigh, and it hits just the right spot between my own.

 _That_ was certainly new. Not that my body responds to her, of course, because even the mere thought of Sterling Wesley has been sending me into overdrive since before I even knew what sex was, but… that it responds so intensely to such a transitory touch. 

“Sorry,” I say tentatively as I glance up at her, wondering what I’ll find in her eyes. “I know I can be… a lot… sometimes.”

But meeting her gaze, I’m almost surprised to see pleasure mixed with sincerity, reflecting back at me. She leans close, brushing her mouth against mine in a reassuring kiss, and I feel my heart anxiety dissipate. 

“We can both be a lot sometimes,” she says, somehow normalizing my entire existence as she tenderly brushes wisps of hair away from my face. “But you are never too much for me.”

“You mean that?” I ask, almost bashfully.

“I do,” she assures me. And with everything I am, I want to believe that it’s true.

“I realized though, that sometimes I’ve been too much for you,” she says to me, and the crinkle I feel forming on my forehead as I look at her coaxes her to continue.

“I pushed you too hard, April,” she admits, and I don’t need to ask what she means. “I asked too much of you, too soon, expecting you to just come out because _I_ didn’t want to hide. It was… selfish, and… completely unfair to you, and I’m so, so sorry.”

My heart aches from hearing her apology when I know that it should be mine, and I can’t allow another moment to go by without rectifying my mistakes.

“No,” I say, shaking my head as I push myself partially upright with my arm braced against the back of the seat. “I was such a coward, Sterling, and I regretted it the moment I walked away from you. I’ve been tearing myself up over it for months now because I thought for sure you’d go back to Luke, and I would’ve lost the one chance I had to be with you.”

Before I even finish what I’m saying, she’s shaking her head. “Luke is the past, April,” she says with such finality in her tone that I have no other choice than to believe it’s true. “I promise. But… you should know that he’s, uh… he’s probably going to ask you out.”

I feel powerless to control the laugh that escapes me, and the expression on her face says she’s confused, as she reaches for the seat lever, lifting it upright again. But I’m quick to explain. “Actually, he already did,” I confess, almost sheepishly, as I shift to basically sit in her lap.

“And?”

The look on her face says she’s almost scared of my response, and I’m quick to signal with my eyes that she needn’t worry. “And I turned him down, of course,” I report, confirming with words what I’d already signaled nonverbally. “I didn’t tell him the truth, obviously, but I couldn’t use him that way,” I explained. “And I would never hurt you like that.”

“Yeah, well, you kinda already did,” she says to me, so gently that it doesn’t even rouse my usual hair-trigger defensiveness. Besides, I know it’s true. Flirting with him at the lock-in was a shitty thing to do to her—and to him. That was another choice that I regretted instantly, which was why I went after her when she ran out of the Fellowship room in tears after cueing our song over the Bluetooth speakers. 

“Is that what you told him?” she asks, before I can apologize yet again.

“Yeah,” I confirm. “And he understood. He didn’t want to hurt you either, which made me realize that he really is a good guy.”

“Of course, he is,” she agrees with quiet conviction. “I wouldn’t’ve stayed with him all those years if he weren’t.”

“I didn’t mean…”

My voice sounds angry and defensive, even to me, so I stop before my comment is finished because I realize I’m being unnecessarily combative—a finely-honed defense mechanism, if ever one existed. I could write a book on how many of those bad boys I have tucked away in my back pocket, ready to unleash on any unsuspecting fool who crosses me. But she’s not one of them, and I recognize that before I make a complete ass out of myself—this time, at least.

“I’m sorry, Sterl,” I say sincerely, and try to quit while I’m ahead by changing the subject.

“So… you said you had something to tell me,” I pretend to recall just then, despite the fact that I’ve been thinking about it obsessively since the moment she first mentioned it. Well, except during those times that her hands were all over my body, and her tongue was, well… you know. Then my body was busy thinking for me. Honestly, it was the most clarity of thought I’ve had in quite some time, and I’ve gotta say, I didn’t mind it one freaking bit.

But I digress…

“If you weren’t talking about Luke, what truth were you referencing?”

The escalation in her heartrate is evident by the pulsing of the vein in her neck as she contemplates her response, and suddenly I feel worried. “The truth about why your dad asked about Blair and me after he was exonerated,” she explains, and suddenly my head is in a tailspin.

I swallow hard around the lump that abruptly formed in my throat, and ask, “Why would you know anything about that?”

“I have no right to ask anything of you, especially right now,” she says, as if she knows an impossible request is forthcoming. “But… what I’m about to tell you, I need you to promise you won’t tell a soul.”

“How can I…”

“Please?” she implores, and I can see the worry in her eyes. This is important to her.

“Okay,” I find myself saying as I nod slightly. “As long as you swear you’re okay, I promise not to tell.”

And I mean it with every fiber of my being, because she kept the most terrifying secret I have, even after I broke her heart. For that alone, I will protect her forever.

“I swear, I’m fine,” she softly reiterates. And then she swallows hard, and I can tell she’s bolstering her courage—something she possesses in spades, but somehow doesn’t even realize. I mean, she was so freaking brave to kiss me like she did that day. She had no idea I was a lesbian—though, I did wonder if she’d figured it out after all that rambling on about Ruth and Naomi, and Jonathan and David that afternoon in her dad’s woodworking shop. But anyway, she didn’t have a clue, and yet, she put herself out there because I was carrying on about people telling the truth. And wanting to be with me—that was her truth. Just like wanting to be with her, was mine, only I never had the courage to voice it the way she did. Instead, I stomped around like a petulant child, being harsh and dismissive toward her because my feelings had been hurt—all over a misunderstanding that I concocted in my own head. I should’ve known better. I should’ve been better. And most of all, I should’ve been honest with myself about my feelings for her, even then. 

“Blair and I, we’re… bounty hunters,” she manages to blurt out in the midst of yet another one of my internal chastisements. And my brain lurches to such an abrupt halt that I can almost hear that cheesy record scratch sound effect vidders use in those crack edits on social media, echoing in its wake. Aside from those times when I’ve found myself completely lost in her, I can’t remember the last time my brain even slowed down, let alone stopped spinning altogether.

I feel my mouth drop open, but my brain is struggling to form any sort of coherent thought around the information I’ve just been given, and all I can manage to say is, “You’re _what_?”

“Bounty hunters,” she says again, this time with more confidence. “We track down people who skip out on…”

“I know what a bounty hunter is; I’m not an idiot,” I spat before I can reel in my sharp tongue, and immediately, I feel remorseful for my response.

And then I look at her, expecting that nervous stammer to surface like it has in the past when I’ve snapped at her. But to my surprise, it doesn’t. Instead, she simply smiles at me and says, “Of course you’re not an idiot. You’re like, the smartest person I know.”

I don’t think I’ve ever felt more humbled in my entire life, and I look at her sheepishly. “I’m sorry for being such an ass.”

Reaching out, she brushes her fingertips against my cheek, and I feel a rush of tenderness sweep over me. “You’re not an ass, either,” she says sweetly. “So stop putting yourself down. You deserve better than that.”

_Dear god, Sterling, you make it impossible for me to not love you._

I have no idea where that thought came from, but it makes me feel simultaneously excited and terrified in equal measure, and I have even less idea what to do with that, so I do what I do best: compartmentalize.

“Could you just… tell me about this bounty hunter thing?” I ask, hoping to steer the conversation back onto solid ground, so I feel less unstable.

The expression in her eyes tells me she knows exactly what I’m doing; but she lets me do it anyway. “Okay, sure,” she says with a nonchalant shrug, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

A moment later, I’m wishing I hadn’t asked, or maybe that she hadn’t been so agreeable.

“See, your dad was asking about Blair and me because, well, because… we were the ones who brought him in when he tried to skip bail,” she says to me, in a tone that says she hates everything about the fact that this is true. But it’s true, nonetheless, and now here I sit, literally, in the lap of the woman who hauled my dad off to jail. 

“You _what_?”

I spew that word with the same vitriol in my tone as it had that afternoon after the debate tournament, when she apologized for being my bully in fifth grade, and she looks at me with those eyes so filled with empathy, yet edged with fear—not of me, but of losing me again—this time, perhaps for good. “Hearing me say it again won’t make it any less true, April,” she says reasonably. “But I want you to know how truly sorry I am.”

But at the moment, I can’t hear reason. I can’t hear empathy. I can’t even hear her confession for what it is: her being completely honest, leaving herself vulnerable to me. Again. And all the for the sake of saving our relationship.

Instead, I’m too busy berating her as I scramble to get out of her lap, out of her car, out of her life!

Because that’s what I do.

In case it isn’t already glaringly obvious, running away is my default action; anger, my default emotion—especially when anything and everything else feels so overwhelming. It’s ridiculous, but the thought of being happy scares the hell out of me, because if I let myself feel it, and it’s good, then it’ll hurt a million times more when it’s gone. And the good things always go away—like Sterling. It’s a cynical way to look at life, I know; but it’s a product of my upbringing, and the fact that I’ve been closeted my entire life certainly doesn’t help, I suppose, which basically makes me a shrink’s dream—and a partner’s nightmare. And yet, here she is, still wanting to be with me.

Yet once again, I default to anger, because I don’t know what else to feel. I don’t really even know what I’m screaming at her as I exit the passenger side of her car, but I know it’s loud and mean, and a part of me already knows I’ll regret it. But right now, I’m so angry I can’t think straight which, despite my momentary loss of rationality, I still manage to find sort of ironic.

But anyway, as I attempt to slam the door for effect, I find that I can’t even manage that successfully because somehow, she’s already there, calling out to me, imploring me to get back in the car, that it’s still a little chilly out despite it being Spring and I’m not wearing my jacket, because… of course she is. 

In an effort to distance myself, I take off running, grateful for the fact that I chose khaki’s this morning, and I’m prone to wearing sneakers most days. But as quickly as I’m moving, she’s moving behind me. With those long legs of hers, she’s like a freaking cheetah or something, which ordinarily I find incredibly sexy, but in the moment, I find highly annoying.

Anyway, she easily catches my arm, bringing us both to a halt on the cobblestone path that leads to the footbridge, and giving me a tug, she turns me toward her. She’s a lot stronger than she looks, and I hope I don’t seem surprised by that. I probably shouldn’t be, given that she just announced how she and her sister somehow managed to wrangle my grown-ass father completely on their own.

“I can’t believe you would haul my daddy in like a common criminal,” I bark at her, but even I know that’s exactly what he is: a criminal who beats women and lies to make himself look like the hero. He skipped bail, and he deserved to be dragged back into custody. And just because he was acquitted, doesn’t mean he’s innocent. My own mother has the bruises to prove it. Why hadn’t I ever noticed them before? It’s a question I’ve asked myself a thousand times since his return.

But again, I digress…

She doesn’t get caught up in my anger though. Instead, she looks at me calmly. “April, please, will you just… sit with me, hear me out?” she asks gently. If this were anyone else, I probably would’ve told them to go fuck themselves, just… not necessarily in those exact terms. I mean, I’m not an animal, right?

But anyway, this is Sterling, and I’m reminded again of the night I broke her heart. She was in so much pain, and I have so many regrets over the way I handled things. I could’ve at least texted her before the lock-in started, let her know we needed to talk. But instead, I let her walk in there, all bouncy and happy, and then I just… froze her out without a word, and then proceeded to brazenly flirt with her ex-boyfriend when I had zero interest in him whatsoever. And yet, when I asked her for the same courtesy—to sit with me, hear me out—she’d given it to me despite her own pain. I’m angry and hurt, but… it’s Sterling, and she’s standing here being so… _Sterling_ , and I feel helpless to deny her.

Clearly, this girl is making me lose my edge because wordlessly, I nod my assent, and she tightens her grip on my hand, leading me over to the old stone bench beneath the sprawling Weeping Willow where she kissed me the first time we visited our pond.

“I… I really am sorry that we were ever involved in this, April,” she says to me.

I hear the sincerity in her voice, but that cynical part of me, the part that desperately needed to believe that Sterling Wesley didn’t have a genuine bone in her body, rears its ugly head. “Then why were you?” I demand.

Smug, arms crossed defensively, I wait.

“We shouldn’t have been,” she says to me without a moment’s hesitation. “We should’ve stood up to our boss, refused the assignment, and faced the consequences. And I am so sorry our bad decision hurt you.”

I’m floored.

Had this been me, I would’ve been ready with a thousand excuses for my poor choice, conveniently framed as valid reasons with a few references to having been engaged in _God’s Work_ to further validate my actions, of course; but they would’ve been lame excuses, nonetheless. But here she is, looking me square in the eyes with sorrow and remorse reflecting in her own as she apologizes to me for what? For doing her job, and apparently doing it quite well?

Not for the first time, I feel like a complete ass.

“I thought you worked at a frozen yogurt shop,” I say, deflecting away from the truth about my father—and myself. Sometimes the truth about who we are is just too much.

“Oh, we do,” she’s quick to confirm. “We just… bounty hunt… on the side.”

She says it so casually, like it’s the most normal side-job in the world for a teenager, and yet, we both know that it isn’t, so I acknowledge that in the simplest terms I can find. “That’s… so weird.”

She giggles a little at the face I make, and I find myself smiling back at her as she agrees with me. And then she touches my face, and I practically melt as she begins to explain. “I never meant to hurt you with this, April. I didn’t tell you to be mean.”

“Then why did you tell me?” I ask. I highly doubt my father would ever admit to the truth. “It’s not like I would’ve ever known.”

“But _I_ would have. And I hated keeping a secret from you,” she says to me, tears turning her gorgeous blue eyes into crystal-clear oceans that I immediately want to drown in. “I know how much you hate lies, and I never want to be someone who would do that to you. And you were so freaked out about your dad asking about Blair and me, and I hurt you so much when we were younger, even though I didn’t mean to, and I didn’t wanna be the cause of you worrying when there was no way he knew about us, and I just… I didn’t want you to find out from anyone else, especially him, because I can’t even imagine how much that would’ve hurt you. And I… I wanted to tell you sooner, but then we had all this family crap, but… that doesn’t even matter right now. What matters to me is you. Only you. And… I only waited this long to tell you because I wasn’t really sure you would even talk to me because, well… you basically ignore my entire existence in school now, even when I’m sitting right next to you. I really don’t know how you do that, because like… omigosh, I can’t keep my mind off of you. But anyway, I realized I had to find a way to tell you the truth, because…”

She’s rambling again, and something inside me registers every single word, but the truth is, she had me at “I hated keeping a secret from you,” and suddenly all of my anger evaporates, and it’s in this very moment that the inevitability of _Us_ is cemented for me.

Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m kissing her with a passion I never even knew I possessed, my hands tangled in her hair, and her hands are clutching me, her fingertips digging into my waist as she’s gasping for breath, but not coming up for air, and never in my life have I felt happier.

And I know that she feels it too, because now we’re together laughing as we kiss, tears of shared joy mingling on our cheeks, and when we finally part, she pulls me into her arms, and nuzzling against my ear, she whispers, “Does this mean you forgive me?”

I lean back just far enough to look into those eyes, and smile as I cradle her beautiful face in my hands. “Always, Sterling,” I whisper in promise, kissing her again. “Always…”

She smiles at me, and I’m reminded of how blessed I am that she actually wants to be with _me_ , and suddenly, I’m the one who’s rambling, making apologies and promises, saying all of the things I’ve been saying to her in my head and my heart all these months, and when I finally come up for air, slowing down, I find myself back to where I started: “I know how badly I hurt you, Sterl, and I’m so sorry for walking away from us. Will you forgive me please, just one last time, for being such a monumental jerk?” I implore.

“You’re not a jerk,” she gently reminds me, as her fingertips play lightly across my tearstained cheek. “And even though it hurt an awful lot, I forgave you as soon as it happened.”

“How?” I ask, disbelievingly. “ _Why_?”

But somehow it really doesn’t feel unbelievable at all, because this is Sterling. Of course, she forgave. I just don’t understand how, because I’ve never been very good at forgiveness, or apologies, for that matter—except, apparently, with her.

“Because I know what it would’ve cost you to stay,” she says softly, her fingertips tangling loosely in my hair. God, I love it when she does that, and I’m instantly glad for the decision to wear it loose and curly today, the way I know she loves it. “And I understand what it cost you to walk away.” 

“Leaving you that night was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” I quietly confess, tears forming in my eyes once again. Ordinarily, I would fight them, but not today, not with her. Instead, I allow them to spill forth, streaming down my face, unashamedly.

“I know…” she whispers in return, gently wiping them away with her thumb.

“I don’t, um… I don’t really know how this is all gonna work, but I will never walk away again,” I vow as my heart swells with emotion.

“Promise?” she quietly implores, those gorgeous blue eyes deeply searching my own.

“Promise,” I murmur softly, and she smiles at me through her tears.

I pause for a moment, my eyes caressing her as I just take her in. “And just so we’re clear,” I whisper, as I lean closer, my mouth brushing lightly against hers, “since the moment we met, the only time I haven’t wanted to talk to you, is when we were doing this…”

And then I’m kissing her again, and she’s kissing me back, and this time, it feels so tender that I swear my heart might actually break—except that it doesn’t because, for the first time in my life, it’s finally whole, thanks to incomparable bravery of Sterling Wesley. 

* * *

**_The Prism, a BGRC Property in Provincetown, Massachusetts—Saturday, June 14, 2025, 5:15 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time_ **

The warm ocean breeze causes the sheer white curtains to billow as it wafts into the room, floating across our exposed skin, and she stirs beside me, her soft blonde hair tickling my bare shoulder where her head lay against it, and I’m drawn from my musings by the welcome sensation of her warm skin gliding smoothly against my own. It’s intimately familiar by now, and yet, something I shall never quite grow accustomed to, which I find oddly comforting in that I’m likely to never take it, or her, for granted. 

Her long blonde tresses are mussed from sex and sleep, and she looks so damned sexy peering up at me through those heavily lidded eyes, a sleepy smile playing across her lips. She stretches slowly, like a languid cat, and leans up brushing those lips against my mouth, and I feel like I’ve won the fucking lottery, but before I can find my words, she speaks.

“You’re up early,” she comments after a glance out the open sliding glass door, noting the fledgling tendrils of sunlight glistening across the ocean’s surface. “The sun is barely up.”

There’s nothing inherently sexy about what she says, but the sound of her voice, low and gravelly, is doing things to my body, and she grins a bit devilishly at the noise that emanates from my lungs as she curls her long, ligthe body around mine. I smile at her and brush errant strands of hair from her eyes as I shift more fully into her. “I never went to sleep,” I quietly confess.

She looks at me with those eyes, concern etched in her brow. “Everything okay?”

I smile more fully at her now, and lean close to kiss her. “Everything is perfect,” I whisper. “I’ve just been thinking about us.”

“Ooh, ooh, that’s my favorite subject,” she says animatedly, suddenly seeming to fully awaken. “What about us?”

“Everything about us,” I answer with a chuckle. “How perfect you are for me. How excited I am to spend the whole summer with you, no responsibilities, no distractions.” I frown as I think about what comes next. “How much I’m going to miss you when you leave,” I confess. And then I smile and kiss her again. “And how incredibly proud I am of you.”

But she’s making a face, looking almost… disappointed. “Sounds more like you’re thinking about just me,” she points out.

“Well, you are my better half,” I reason, a playful lilt in my tone. But she looks neither impressed nor amused, so I respond with a suitably contrite expression.

“We’re perfect for each other, Love,” she contends, stressing the reciprocal nature of our perfection, but in the moment I can’t address that because I’m too busy smiling at the endearment. So much better than _Baby_ or, god forbid, _Babe_. I am a lot of things, some of them perhaps not so good, but one thing’s for certain: I am not now, nor will I ever be, a fucking animated talking pig! I may have been raised by bigoted, conservative ideologists, but the feminist in me cringes at the mere thought, and it took every ounce of self-control I possessed not to lose my shit every time I heard Luke call her that godawful pet name.

But yet again, I digress…

“The perfect Yin to your Yang,” I offer as I steer my attention back on track. The comment earns an eye roll from her, and I respond with an innocent, “What?”

She just gives me that look because she knows I know exactly what, but that doesn’t stop her from telling me anyway. “You, always with the ‘My light to your dark’,” she says with a grimace. “This ain’t _Star Wars_ , Honey. You’re not Darth Vader, and I am certainly no Han Solo.”

Before I can stop myself, I feel a roguish eyebrow peak. “I always thought of you as more of a Princess Leia,” I smirk.

She knows exactly where this is going; I can see it on her face. “Don’t even think about it,” she warns, as she pushes herself up onto an elbow. Her voice is stern, but she can’t hide the grin that teases at the corners of her mouth.

“Think about what?” I ask coquettishly.

“I love playing dress-up with you, but I am absolutely not dressing up as Princess Leia, ya saucy little nerd,” she says, her tone insistent despite the cute little giggle that accompanies her declaration. “No matter how titillating the fantasy.”

“Bummer,” I pout, peering up at her through disappointed eyes.

And then we’re laughing together, the way we always do, and then she’s kissing me, and whispering to me about how beautiful I am, and how much she loves me as her hands move across my body with a familiarity cultivated through years of intimate moments, and willingly, I surrender myself to her, just as she does to me; the two of us, together as one.

* * *

TBC in Chapter 1.2…


	2. Supercut—Sterling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Sterling's turn to offer perspective in this opening Chronicle, entitled Supercut, which begins shortly after their graduation from undergrad, giving us a brief snapshot of them before taking us on a journey back to the Spring of their junior year at Willingham Academy—you know, the school that looks sort of like the Disney version of Gotham City afterhours, and boasts being “Prayer Conditioned”? I still groan every time I see that on digital billboard in the opening scene, but… I digress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimers and Other Assorted Ramblings: The characters Sterling and Blair Wesley and their parents, Debbie and Anderson, April Stevens, Luke Creswell, Hannah B., Ezequiel, and Willingham Academy, were created by Kathleen Jordan and are, unfortunately, owned by Netflix. 
> 
> Rights to the song Supercut by Lorde from her sophomore album Melodrama belong to Sony/ATV Publishing.
> 
> No copyright infringement intended with regard to Netflix, Sony, or any other entity. With the exception of brief references to episode content, the dialogue and story content in these scenes are original. Written for fun, not profit. All other standard disclaimers apply. 
> 
> Rating: The opening Chronicle to this series is rated PG-13-ish, but overall, The Supercut Chronicles will reach NC-17. 
> 
> Final Notes: As many of you already know, I tend to approach storytelling through flashbacks, thus, it will be important to pay attention to the dates, times, and locations as we move forward (and flash back) through the anthology of their shared experiences. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Kimberly  
> 

**The Supercut Chronicles: Anthology of Us**

Copyright November 2020

“ _Wild and florescent, come home to my heart…_ ”

— Lorde, _Supercut_

Chapter 1.2— _Supercut_ :

**_The Prism, a BGRC Property in Provincetown, Massachusetts—Saturday, June 14, 2025, 8:30 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time_ **

When I was sixteen, I thought I knew what it meant to love—to be _in love_. I thought I understood what making love was all about—that it was… fucking, except… slower. And then April Stevens locked that door, and turned my life completely upside down, showing me how totally wrong I was about it all—and how absolutely right she was for me; how perfect we are for each other. 

Nearly six years later, and still, I can’t get enough of her. And I’m not just talking about sex or even lovemaking. I’m talking about the little things, those ordinary moments that turn into something extraordinary simply because we’re experiencing them together. Things like an unexpected late-night video chat while we’re both supposed to be studying for finals. A walk by our pond, holding hands. A kiss beneath our weeping willow. An inside joke. A shared bubble-bath. Fro-Yo on a random Tuesday afternoon because she knows I love it, followed by a _Star Wars_ marathon in her bed, just because I know she loves it. Preparing a meal together, and then laughing because it’s not even close to being edible and calling out for pizza instead. Shared laughter through tears—and the comfort only she can bring when our tears don’t come with laughter. A debate, heated or otherwise, over something as explosive as voter suppression in Georgia—that was back when she was still President of the Young Republicans at Willingham, and gosh, I sure was I glad when she finally saw the light on that one!—or as mundane as whose turn it is to scoop Sergeant Bilko’s litter box when I would visit her at Harvard for the weekend. It’s a million little things about her, about _us_ , that leave me feeling so completely satisfied, wholly content, and yet ever craving more.

Speaking of craving more, in a word, last night was… incredible. This morning, even better. And now she sleeps, her sated body draped over mine, a cheek resting against the center of my chest, honeyed hair, though a bit shorter than it was back in high school, splayed across my bare breasts… and languidly, I sift my fingers through it as I dream of more mornings with her. More mornings exactly like this, where I wake up in her arms, or her in mine, the day stretched out before us with nothing to interfere. No finals to prepare for, no assignments to finish, just us… and endless moments of togetherness. I love just _being_ with her.

Sadly though, even after all these years, she sometimes still struggles to believe that, to understand and accept that it’s true. It’s one of the reasons I almost decided against going to Prague. The commitment is only a year, and we’ve already proven our relationship can withstand separation, but… I want so much for her to know, to truly _believe_ , that she is all I’ve ever wanted, all I’ll ever need. She’s everything to me. Always has been. Always will be.

But she wouldn’t let me do that—sacrifice the urgings of my spirit, the call I feel to serve others, in deference to her own ambitions. She loves me too much to ask that of me, or even accept it as a gift freely given because I love her just as much.

It wasn’t always like that between us, that mutual give-and-take, of course. We’ve had our differences over the years. But I think overall, people judge her a little too harshly. Sometimes _a lot_ too harshly. I mean, I wouldn’t say that April is all bark, no bite, because to be quite honest, I’ve been bitten by her myself a few times in the past. But she’s not the animal most people would make her out to be. She’s more like a prickly pear… tough and thorny on the outside, but soft and sweet on the inside. Only a very select few—her mom, my family, Ezequiel and Hannah B., and me, of course—have been blessed with getting to know the inner workings of April Stevens’ heart, but once she lets you in, there’s no better place to be. And that’s why I was willing to risk telling her the awful truth about my betrayal, for even the slightest chance of recapturing the magic of _Us_ , of getting our _Someday_ , and sharing our lives together…

**_Willingham Academy, Atlanta, Georgia—Wednesday, March 25, 2020, 2:45 p.m. Eastern Standard Time_ **

I’ve been sitting here on pins and needles all hour, watching the minutes ticking by on the clock, all the while agonizing over the conversation I’m about to attempt with April. The more anxious I feel, the faster the minutes seem to pass, so I focus extra hard on my breathing to help calm my nerves. It doesn’t help that April is sitting right beside me—not that I mind having her so close—but there are times when I’m absolutely certain she can hear me singing Elmo’s _Belly Breathe_ song in my head. I know it sounds ridiculous, but my therapist—the one my parents insisted I start seeing after the whole parentage debacle came out—introduced me to it, and as silly as it seems, it actually helps; both the therapy, and the song. But… right now, I’m just thinking about the song, and when I’m focused on the melody in my head and the rise and fall of my breath deep in my belly, I can’t be obsessing over whatever it is that has me anxious. Honest to goodness, I don’t think I’ve ever loved Elmo more.

But those moments of stolen calm fade far too quickly.

The final bell rings, and it seems like April can’t get away from me fast enough. I turn to Blair for like, a nanosecond, to make sure she doesn’t need anything before I leave—she knows I’m planning to tell April the truth today, about how we brought her dad in when he skipped bail—and by the time I turn back around, she’s already through the classroom door, bulldozing her way through the crowd in the hallway.

_Gosh, she’s hot when she’s being pushy._

Quickly, I gather my things, and chase after her. Seems I do that a lot these days: chase after April Stevens to just catch a few more glances at her before she disappears, and I’m left to miss her all over again, which seems to be my default setting these days. 

I understand how hard this is for her. She didn’t break things off with me because she doesn’t want to be with me. She did it because she’s scared. It hurts, regardless, because I miss her so much, but I think it hurts a little differently because I know how much she’s hurting too. I hate that so much for both of us, and I know that it’s partially my fault because: One, I pushed her to come out when I knew she wasn’t ready; and Two, I told her I didn’t know if we could ever try again. So those things are on me, and I deeply regret them both. It’s just that, I was in so much pain that night that I couldn’t see beyond it. But now, the truth is, I pray, every single day—like, every single time I look at her, or think about her, or even hear her name—that our _Someday_ will come, and if she would only give me another chance, I’d be willing to stay in the closet with her as long as she needed me to, just so we could make that happen.

Now, if only she’d stop avoiding me.

I skirt my way around the usual groupings of teenagers scattered through the hallway, and notice Ezequiel and Hannah B. talking to a couple of kids from Fellowship near the doorway to the Principal’s office, and that helps me breathe a sigh of relief. April usually rides with Hannah B. on Wednesdays because it’s youth night at church, and they hang out before service, which means she won’t get far because Hannah B. is still in the building.

Unless, oh, my gosh, what if April drove herself because Hannah B. is skipping tonight?

That thought makes me move double-time, and a moment later, I find myself bursting through the heavy wooden front doors, out into the sunlight. It’s a little chilly, but not too bad for a March afternoon, so I’m hoping April will agree to go for a walk with me or something, so we can have some privacy when I tell her the truth. I wouldn’t blame her for hating me, and I pray to God it’s not the last conversation we ever have; though, I’m prepared to face the fact that it might be.

How could she ever forgive me? How could I even ask?

I force that thought aside, focusing on my mission. Glancing out across the courtyard, I find her easily. I mean, she is the hottest girl in school, right? Well, Blair would certainly argue that, but I would stand my ground. I mean, it’s not like I’m biased or anything. But anyway, she’s quickly making her way across the courtyard toward the parking lot, and again, I hasten my speed to catch up with her before Ezequiel or Hannah B. can thwart my plans, and as I’m closing in on her, she stops in her tracks, turning on her heel, and suddenly my anxiety is in overdrive, and my heart begins to race—and despite the fact that she’s a total freaking vision right now in her perfectly-pressed khakis and Willingham blazer, with that blue button-down Oxford that makes her beautiful blue eyes darken and somehow pop—it’s not racing in the way it usually does when I’m contemplating time alone with her. 

She offers me a crooked smile, and my lips tremble when I smile back, but it’s clear from the expression on her beautiful face that she’s nervous, and I’m honestly surprised that she doesn’t run away, even as my own body wars between panic and excitement, the closer I draw near.

“Umm… Can we, maybe talk?” I ask, as I approach her, hoping I don’t sound as nervous as I feel.

Shifting her weight, she pushes her blazer back, juts out a hip, and plants a hand firmly on it, and I find the gesture so freaking hot that I have to force my body into submission. And then her eyebrow lifts in that way that drives me totally crazy, and I just about lose my mind.

“What’s up?” she asks, playing it cool, but I can tell by the expression in her eyes that she’s anything but calm. Her heart is probably racing as fast as mine, and to be honest, I kind of like it that way.

“Not here,” I say, as I reach out, taking her hand.

I’m a little surprised, well, a lot surprised actually, when she doesn’t resist, but I certainly don’t question it. Instead, I just go with it, enjoying the familiar warmth of her hand in mine. That was one of my favorite parts about being with her—her hands are so soft and warm, and they fit so perfectly into mine that it seemed like we were made for each other. I know that sounds ridiculous, but as Blair would say, that doesn’t make my feelings any less valid.

By the time we get to my car, I’m feeling a little nervous again as I open the passenger side door for her. “Will you… will you get in with me?” I ask, praying she won’t deny me.

I can tell by the expression on her face that she’s thinking about something that makes her sad, and though I have no actual proof, I can’t help but think it has to do with me. But a moment later, she’s looking at me with those eyes, and now I’m certain she’s thinking about me, because suddenly her eyelashes are fluttering, and her cheeks are a little flushed, which looks… incredibly beautiful on her, and though I can’t see them, I’m certain the tips of her ears are flaming red, and I’m dying to know what caused such a reaction, but before I can ask, she seems to find her voice because she’s asking me about Blair.

I feel almost giddy when I smile and tell her, “She’s hanging out with her latest… toy-friend, and we’re…”

“Did you just say _toy-_ friend?” she asks, enunciating the first syllable, and I laugh in response.

“When the label fits…” I answer playfully, and her eyes sparkle as the corners of her mouth curl into a grin, which makes my heart flutter. I love it when she smiles. And when she laughs… gosh, it’s like a symphony to my ears. As I’m thinking about how her laugh, or even just a simple smile from her can make me feel so happy, I feel a sudden urge to kiss her.

Oh, my gosh, how I wish I could…

But I know that I can’t, so as a means of distraction, I shake the thought from my head, and continue what I was saying, “Anyway, we’re supposed to meet up at youth tonight, so I’ve got hours to kill. I mean, not that I think of spending time with you as killing time or anything, because I totally don’t. I love spending time with you, it’s just that I’m not in a hurry or anything, and…”

“Sterling—,” she intones, rescuing me from my ramble.

“Yeah?” I say, sheepishly.

“Just open the door,” she says with a teasing lilt in her tone that tells me she’s amused but doesn’t want me to know it.

I can’t help myself. I let out a little squeal of excitement, and I’m certain I have the most ridiculous smile on my face, but I don’t care, because April just agreed to go with me, so I gesture toward the open door, and a moment later, she’s climbing in and I’m closing it behind her.

I use the time it takes for me to get around the car to quell the thoughts and urges I’m having about her— _When did I turn into the horny twin?_ , I wonder—and though it’s difficult, I shift my focus back to her and to what I know I have to do if we’re ever gonna have a chance together.

Once I’m inside the car with her, I lock the doors and turn toward her, fretting over whether or not I should dare ask her to go off-campus with me, and I can tell she knows something’s up because she’s looking at me with such concern as she asks me what’s wrong. 

“Do you mind if we like, go somewhere more private?” I ask, still holding on to the hope that I don’t sound as nervous as I feel, because my anxiety is like, off the charts again, and Elmo seems to be playing hide-and-seek with me at the moment. 

But she’s looking at me with those eyes, and the expression on her face says she’s worried about me. Like, really worried. “Did something happen, Sterl?”

“Yes,” I answer, hoping my expression makes up for the edginess I can’t quite manage to erase from my voice. “But it’s not what you’re probably thinking. I’m fine,” I’m quick to assure her. “I just… I need to tell you something important, and I don’t want to say it… here.”

I’m not concerned about me, of course. Like I said before, I’m prepared for this to go off the rails. But the last thing I want is for her to hear this information and then be forced to face a bunch of people who’ve already judged her for things she couldn’t control. Her father did something terrible, and Blair and I helped to make it worse, but April, the only thing she did was put her trust in a man who didn’t deserve it, and open her heart to a girl who betrayed her and has regretted it ever since. Honestly, when it comes to April, I don’t think I’m any better than John Stevens, because we both hurt her deeply. She just doesn’t know that yet.

She doesn’t even hesitate before nodding her agreement, and as surprised as I am by that, I’m actually really not, because she’s… different now—at least with me, anyway. She hasn’t been rude or snippy with me at all since our breakup, which is totally not what I expected because the shift has raised a few eyebrows, to say the least. But no one has dared question it, and I’m grateful for that—for both our sakes. Anyway, before I can get too caught up in thinking about how different she is, I purposefully shift my focus to the seatbelt, pulling it over my shoulder and snapping it into place.

My actions seem to spur her own, and she reaches for her seatbelt as well. But even as she does, she seems… distracted, and briefly, I wonder what she’s thinking about. I know for me, being in this car with her definitely has me thinking about that night… how passionate we were, and how we’d ended up in the back seat. My entire body feels tingly from the memory of her gentle hands and warm mouth all over me, and I realize that if I don’t find a quick distraction, I’m going to end up embarrassing myself by doing something really stupid—like kissing her without her consent—again. I can’t even describe how terrible I still feel about doing that to her, despite the fact that she told me outright that she wasn’t the least bit sorry that I did. 

Shoving the thought aside before I begin another incoherent apology for something she’s already forgiven, I turn to her. “The Pond?” I ask, hoping that my nonchalant shrug sends the signal that my suggestion wasn’t planned, but like, it totally was—strategically so. Surely, she can’t get _too_ angry with me there, right? Because I can tell by the expression in her eyes that she knows exactly which pond I mean. It’s _our pond_ —the one where we spent our afternoons and evenings between the Fun Zone and, well, the night we nearly… 

Anyway, I can’t think about that right now, or I’ll have to talk myself down from kissing her again, and then…

Omigosh, she’s got that crooked smile on her face—Geez, that’s so freakin’ sexy—and I’m holding my breath, waiting for her response, and I can barely stand the suspense. 

“Sure,” she says, as if there were ever any doubt whatsoever, and I can’t help myself—I let out an excited little squeak and find myself grinning like a fool.

She chuckles a little, and before she can change her mind I step on the break and reach toward the steering column, pressing the electronic pushbutton to start the car. It takes a moment for ready light to illuminate on the instrument panel. Seconds later, my phone connects to the Bluetooth, and when it does, I panic because I know the media player will automatically pick up where it left off, but I don’t even bother to reach for it, because it’s already too late…

_We were wild and florescent, come home to my heart…_

The sound of Lorde’s voice, the depth of those lyrics, seem to impact us both with equal force, and I turn to her and realize that we both have tears in our eyes, and I wonder if it’s because we both realize we’re not going to our pond for a date this time, and her smile quickly evaporates, breaking my heart along the way. Everything in me wants to reach out for her, to pull her close and hold her, to take it all back, apologize for forcing the coming out issue, and swear I’ll never push again.

But I can’t do that. I can’t disrespect her wishes. She asked for time to focus on her family, and as much as I don’t respect John Stevens because of the things he’s done, I do respect her, and I understand her need to salvage her relationship with her parents, especially her dad, because I’ve been working hard at doing the same thing with mine. But maybe we can have just a little bit of _Us_ back, if only for a little while…

I swallow hard around the lump in my throat, and when I speak, my voice is a little shaky, and I hope she doesn’t notice. “I know… we’re not, like together or anything, and… and this is definitely not a date, so I would totally understand if you said no, but I was wondering, I don’t know, like… do you think maybe I could… hold your hand while we drive?” I stammer, seeking her consent. “It’s just the two of us. No one will…”

I realize, too late, of course, that I’m rambling again. It’s a good thing she finds it adorable—I know, because she told me so—because I’m so far in that it would seem weird if I just stopped now. Turns out, it doesn’t really matter anyway because before I even finish, she’s reaching for my hand, and I have stop myself from squealing again. And by the time I finally finish rambling, her fingers are laced through mine, and I feel both excited and calm at the same time. It’s kinda weird. But, in the very best way, because it reminds me of that night in the back seat, and all of the incredible things she made my heart and my body feel—all at once. Being with Luke _never_ felt like that, even when we were…

Well, never mind. I don’t want to think about that anymore.

It’s not that I think it was a mistake being with Luke, physically or otherwise. It’s just that… I’ve realized I wasn’t as in love with him as I thought I was all those years. If I had been, it would’ve hurt way worse when we broke up. I mean, I spent six years with him, and I was over it in like, five minutes. I only spent a couple of weeks with April, and five months later, I’m still missing her so much I can barely breathe!

And more than ever, I want to know her—all of her.

Gosh, how I wish I could…

I smile at her through my tears, and I can tell that it makes an impact on her, because she looks like she’s about to cry too, but… in a good way, and that makes me smile real big, and suddenly I can see her pulse racing in her neck, and I have the most intense urge to release this seatbelt, pull her to me, and kiss her senseless.

But I don’t, because… reasons…

Instead, I decide it’s probably best to skedaddle on out of here before Ezequiel or Hannah B. come looking for April. It’s then that I realize I’m in a conundrum: April’s hand is perfectly settled in mine—I love the way it fits there, like it was meant to be—and I don’t want to relinquish my hold, but… I need to put the car in drive.

Mentally, I scratch my head, thinking through my options, and a moment later my brain starts spinning and up pops an idea, and I reach across my body with my free arm to put the car in gear. And then I give myself a mental high-five, because that was, like… total genius, and there’s no way I’m ever telling her that I saw Blair do it once when she had a ham sandwich in her right hand, dill pickle juice dripping down her arm, because as I pull out of the parking space, she’s smiling at me, and I feel tingly all the way down to my toes.

 _How does she do that to me?_

Unable to resist, I allow myself one indulgence: a light kiss against her knuckles that makes my lips tingle as it brings a soft smile to hers. She doesn’t pull away, so I take that as encouragement, and giving her hand a light squeeze, I casually drop our joined hands down into my lap. I see her body relax into the seat and I savor that because I have no idea how she’s going to react when I tell her the truth, so right now, I just need to soak up every last moment I have with her because aside from my family, she is literally everything to me. 

* * *

**_Duck Pond Park, Atlanta, Georgia—Wednesday, March 25, 2020, 3:00 p.m. Eastern Standard Time_ **

The whole way to our Pond, between covert glances at April, of course, all I can think about is how she took my hand without even hesitating, how she’s still holding it, and how perfectly it fits into mine, and Lord, help me, how much I really, really, _really_ want to kiss her, and… then the _‘What ifs?’_ begin…

What if she’s changed her mind? What if we could actually be together? What if she does want to try again, and then… she changes her mind back again after I tell her the truth?

_What if…_

That last question has me teetering on the edge of an anxiety attack, so I shift my focus from Emotional Mind into Wise Mind—a technique I’m learning in therapy to help with my anxiety—which is super hard when all I really want to think about is kissing April again. But I can’t deal with that right now because I need to circumvent a total freak out here, and to do that I need to consider what I feel, versus what I know.

What I _feel_ is… a mixture of anxiety and excitement, and honestly, some of that anxiety is _because_ I’m so excited, and not just because I’m crazy scared that I’ll lose her again before I even get her back—if that’s even possible. And what I _know_ is… April came here with me willingly, she took my hand when I offered it, and she hasn’t made a move to take it back. So I shouldn’t _Fortune Tell_ , as Dr. Westbrook… I mean, Paige—she’s my therapist—says, because I don’t really know what’s going to happen next, and most things we freak out about never actually happen anyway, so why freak myself out over something I don’t even know will happen, right?

_Whew!_

That’s a whole lot harder than it sounds, by the way…

Anyway, I pull into our parking space near the back edge of our pond, shifting the car into park, and when I turn to her, it’s clear that she’s lost in thought, and I can’t help but smile, wondering if she’s thinking about us.

“What are you thinking about so intently?” I ask with a soft laugh, and the sound of my voice seems to startle her back to reality.

A light flush touches her perfect cheeks, and I don’t think she’s ever looked more beautiful, but before I can tell her so, she asks, “Honestly?”

I can tell she’s buying some time, so I chuckle in response. “Of course.”

She shifts her gaze away from me. “I was… thinking about the last time we were alone in this car,” she sheepishly confesses.

Instantly, the memory of that night makes my entire body tingle and flush all over again, and I struggle to find words. “Yeah, that was a, uh… a really great night, wasn’t it?”

She doesn’t answer that, of course, because she knows it’s rhetorical. But what she does say catches me completely off-guard, in the most beautiful way possible.

“I miss you, Sterling. I miss _us_ ,” she whispers to me so unexpectedly that my heart actually somersaults in my chest, and a soft sigh escapes in its wake.

“I miss us too, April. So, so much…” I whisper softly to her, as I reach out, brushing my fingertips across her cheek.

The next thing I know, our mouths are connected, my hands cradling her face, and hers, tangled in my hair, pulling me to her. It’s passionate, and yet, so tender that I feel like I could cry, and honestly, I think I might. I’ve been waiting for this, _praying_ for it, for so long now, and I go to her readily.

In my eagerness to be closer to her, my tongue slips out of its own accord, lightly tracing the edges of her perfect lips, and when she opens to me, allowing me inside, her mouth is so warm, her taste so sweet as her tongue glides effortlessly against mine, and it feels like every kiss we’ve ever shared, all rolled into one—and at the same time, it feels… completely new, like a promise that things will be different this time, and I lose myself in her, willingly so.

As our kisses intensify, the moan that escapes her is so low and deep that I feel the rumble reverberating in my chest, and it makes me want to consume her—all of her. And suddenly I understand how she felt that night—that intense urge to ravage me—because that’s exactly what I want to do to her right now. And it’s almost like she’s reading my mind because her hands are moving down my neck, gliding over my blazer, and slipping inside.

Giddy with excitement, I smile into our kiss and jiggle my arms to help her rid me of my blazer, even as I push hers from her shoulders. And then I grasp her waist, pulling her closer, as her fingertips get to work on my shirt buttons, and I can’t help but think about what a stroke of genius is was to wear a button-down this morning. I mean, I picked it because it was cold outside, but now I’m feeling like… super hot, so it’s fortunate that April seems so intent upon ridding me of it—right?

Right.

“I want this, Sterling.” Her voice is low and brimming with desire as she slips her hand beneath my shirt, and I’m powerless to stop the appreciative sounds that slip through my lips into her mouth as her fingertips dance across my skin, leaving a trail of tantalizing tingles in their wake. “I want _you_ …” she growls, those fingertips digging desperately into my flesh as she pulls me closer.

Omigosh, how I’ve wanted to hear her whisper those words to me! How I’ve craved her touch, the passion tinged with tenderness in her tone. She wants me. She wants _me_! It feels almost like a dream as her fingertips inch higher and her tongue tangles with mine.

But I can’t. Not right now. Not like this…

“I want you too, April. I wanna be with you so much,” I whisper breathlessly to her, even as my heart shatters into a million pieces. What if this is our last chance? What if telling her the truth ruins everything? And yet, not telling her would be even worse, because then we would be based on a lie, and I can’t bear to do that to her. I can’t hurt her that way. And that’s why I know we have to stop.

“But… not until I tell you what I came here to tell you. Not until you know the whole truth,” I say, reluctantly pulling away from our kiss. She looks… perplexed, and I hope my face isn’t giving me away like it usually does.

“The truth?” she asks.

“Yes,” I confirm, my voice shaking from anxiety.

“Please tell me you and Luke aren’t back together,” she practically begs, looking almost terrified that it might be true. And to be honest, it kind of hurts a little that she could think I would go back to him after…

But she’s looking at me with those eyes, and I can’t help but want to soothe her pain.

“Oh, gosh, no, April, I would never…” I’m quick to reassure. And then I remember that moment of weakness I had with him after she broke things off, and I realize if I’m going to be honest with her, I need to be honest about everything. Including that. 

“Well, I mean, I thought about it, for like, a hot second, and then I realized that Blair was right, and that I shouldn’t go back to him just because he’s safe, but… like, omigosh, she was so, so wrong about the feeling like home thing. He doesn’t feel like home to me at all. He never did. But _You do_ , and…”

 _Oh, my gosh, what did I just say?_ I suddenly find myself wondering as I realize that not only am I rambling again, but I’ve managed to leave myself completely vulnerable to her without even trying. Did I say too much? Push too hard? What if I’ve ruined things again? 

And then I’m biting my lip as I search her beautiful face, waiting with bated breath for her reaction, all the while terrified that I’ve messed up yet again. But she’s smiling at me and blushing instead of freaking out, and that makes my heart skip a beat, and I want to kiss her so desperately. But she’s averting my gaze just like she did that day at the Fun Zone when I admitted to thinking about her like… all the time.

“I, um… I—I feel like… _home_ … t-to you?” she stammers, and it’s so freaking adorable that I just want to gather her close and squeeze her. But instead, I reach for her, tenderly touching her chin. I need to see her eyes, and with a gentle coaxing, she follows until her gaze is locked into mine.

There’s a whole world, a whole universe, going on behind those beautiful blue eyes, and I want to know every single part of it. I want to know her in a way that no one else ever has; the way I’ve never known anyone else. And I’m not just talking about sex, because like… Luke, obviously. And yet, instinctively I already know that things will be different with her. There’s something in the way she looks at me, something in the way we touch, that tells of the intimacy we’ll share, and honestly, I don’t think I could ever share that with anyone but her. I’m certain that I don’t ever want to. And that’s how I know I have to tell her. I have to tell her everything, including that, except… maybe not in so many words, because like, that might freak her out. 

“Nothing has ever felt as safe, or as right, as being with you, April Stevens,” I whisper to her, meaning it with every ounce of sincerity I possess. 

I can tell by the expression in her eyes that my declaration affects her so deeply that she can’t even find words, and when words fail, actions speak, so I lean into her brushing my lips against her mouth, the lightest touch, like feathers, and I revel in the soft whimper that escapes her perfect lips, and I swear she’s about to cry when suddenly I feel her hands on my face, urging me closer, her lips and tongue deepening our kiss. 

I don’t dare resist. I would never, _could_ never. Because it’s _her_ … 

And then her hands are in my hair again, and mine are gripping her petite waist, as I’m pulling her toward me, our kisses growing ever more passionate. It’s a good thing she’s so… compact, because that makes it easy for her to navigate over the console and into my lap where she straddles my thighs. Even through layers of fabric, my skin burns where her legs and inner thighs make contact with mine, and I hear myself moan into her mouth as her hands slip beneath my shirt again, gliding smoothly across my skin and her tongue plunges deeper still.

I need more contact with her, and I need it, like… _now_ , so I let go of her waist, and reaching for her shirt, I yank it from her khaki’s and begin fumbling with the buttons, managing just enough to slip my hands beneath finding the warmth of her skin. Her breath hitches and I hesitate. “Is this okay?” I whisper.

Her mouth still fused to mine, wordlessly, she enthusiastically nods her consent, and I smile against her lips, pleased to know that she likes it. She must like it a lot, in fact, because a moment later, she’s reaching for the lever on my seat and the next thing I know we’re fully reclined, and my hands are trapped between us, dangerously close to her breasts as she brings her body flush against my own. 

And then I’m lost again in her, in her touch, her kiss, her perfect scent, when we finally come up for air, I pull her to me, and she settles beside me in the seat, her left thigh draped over mine, and her hand, warm against my skin in the center of my chest.

I shift just slightly, allowing her body to mold a little more closely with mine, and the groan that slips from her lips surprises us both just a little, but… in the very best way—at least for me.

For her, it prompts an apology—one that I don’t really understand. “Sorry,” she says tentatively as she glances up at me with something akin to shame in her eyes. “I know I can be… a lot… sometimes.”

I lean close, giving her a reassuring kiss. “We can both be a lot sometimes,” I say honestly, because like, seriously, we really are a bit much at times. And then I let her know that even that’s okay with me. “But you are never too much for me.”

“You mean that?” she asks, almost bashfully.

“I do,” I assure her. “I realized though, that sometimes I’ve been too much for you,” I confess, and the confused expression on her face urges me to push forward, offering explanation. “I pushed you too hard, April. I asked too much of you, too soon, expecting you to just come out because _I_ didn’t want to hide. It was… selfish, and… completely unfair to you, and I’m so, so sorry.”

I don’t think I’ve ever meant an apology more. Except maybe the one I’ll be giving her after she knows the whole truth. But the things I did and said to hurt her don’t even seem to register with her because she’s apologizing to me!

“No,” she insists, shaking her head as she pushes herself partially upright, her arm braced against the back of the seat. “I was such a coward, Sterling, and I regretted it the moment I walked away from you. I’ve been tearing myself up over it for months now because I thought for sure you’d go back to Luke, and I would’ve lost the one chance I had to be with you.”

Omigosh, she’s so, so wrong about all of that, and before she even finishes what she’s saying, I’m shaking my head because I don’t want her to think for one more second that Luke Creswell, or anyone else for that matter, would ever come between us. “Luke is the past, April. I promise,” I say with more conviction than I’ve ever possessed. “But… you should know that he’s, uh… he’s probably going to ask you out.”

I expected her to be, I don’t know, aghast, but instead she’s… laughing! I’m confused, but not in a bad way. I just need a little clarification, so I reach for the seat lever, bringing us both upright as she explains, “Actually, he already did,” she says, almost sheepishly, as she manages to settle in my lap.

“And?”

I’m almost terrified to hear her response to him. Not because I’m afraid of him knowing that I’m like, bisexual or whatever, but because I would never want to see him hurt. But the expression in her eyes quells my fears before she even speaks another word.

“And I turned him down, of course,” she explains. “I didn’t tell him the truth, obviously, but I couldn’t use him that way. And I would never hurt you like that.”

That one stung a little, and in the spirit of complete honesty, I don’t let her get away with it. “Yeah, well, you kinda already did,” I say to her, firmly, yet gently, because I don’t want to return the hurt. What good would that do either of us?

I can tell by the expression in her eyes that not only does she accept responsibility for her mistakes, but the fact that I wasn’t a jerk about it matters to her.

“Is that what you told him?” I ask, before she can apologize yet again for something I forgave a long time ago.

“Yeah,” she confirms. “And he understood. He didn’t want to hurt you either, which made me realize that he really is a good guy.”

“Of course, he is,” I agree readily. “I wouldn’t’ve stayed with him all those years if he weren’t.”

“I didn’t mean…”

I feel tension in her response—that instinctive defensiveness borne of a lifetime of hiding her truths; but then she stops before she even finishes her comment, and I see the shifting of emotions—defensiveness, to righteous indignation, to awareness, and finally, remorse. Her eyes tell me she’s sorry for her reaction before her lips can even form the apology I know is coming, and I feel so proud of her for the obvious growth. 

“I’m sorry, Sterl,” she says with gentle sincerity, much like the apology that day in the Fellowship room when I reminded her that she was the reason I was outed with Luke.

Before I can respond, she’s changing the subject, and honestly, I feel a little cheated because I was hoping for an opportunity to reassure her. She acts so tough all the time, but deep down, she’s so sensitive and caring, and I want more than anything to nurture those qualities in her, to let her know it’s safe to share her true self, not only with me, but with the world. 

“So… you said you had something to tell me,” she says, as if I don’t know she’s been silently obsessing over my declaration since the moment I uttered it. Well, except for those moments when we were, you know…

I feel myself blush a little at the memory, but I don’t think she notices because she’s already shifting gears, and honestly, I’m relieved.

“If you weren’t talking about Luke, what truth were you referencing?” she asks, and I realize how fleeting that relief actually was because suddenly my heart is pounding erratically and I feel like I might actually have a full-blown panic attack. Either that, or puke. Honestly, I don’t know which would be worse.

I know she sees it because the expression on her face says she’s worried about what I’m about to say, so I bolster as much courage as I can, and just blurt it out. “The truth about why your dad asked about Blair and me after he was exonerated.”

Taken aback, she swallows super hard. “Why would you know anything about that?” she asks, her voice shaking uncharacteristically.

“I have no right to ask anything of you, especially right now,” I say, knowing I’m about to launch an impossible request. “But… what I’m about to tell you, I need you to promise you won’t tell a soul.”

“How can I…”

“Please?” I entreat, hoping she can see how important this is to me.

“Okay,” she agrees, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “As long as you swear you’re okay, I promise not to tell.”

“I swear, I’m fine,” I assure her. And then I’m the one who’s swallowing super hard, as I summon more courage than I ever thought I possessed, and finally, I blurt out, “Blair and I, we’re… bounty hunters.”

In that moment, I witness something I never thought I would see: April Stevens’ brain come screeching to a full stop.

Her face scrunches up, and she tilts her head a few times in different directions, mouth agape as if she wants to speak, but can’t find words. And then finally, “You’re _what_?” she says disbelievingly.

“Bounty Hunters,” I repeat, this time with more confidence. “We track down people who skip out on…”

“I know what a bounty hunter is; I’m not an idiot,” she snaps. And immediately, she looks utterly chagrined by her sharp-tongued response. 

“Of course you’re not an idiot,” I say with gentle reassurance. “You’re like, the smartest person I know.”

Her breath visibly lurches in her chest, leaving her momentarily speechless as she processes what I’ve just said. “I’m sorry for being such an ass,” she says a few seconds later, a penitent expression on her face.

It hurts my heart that she feels like that about herself. She puts on such a convincing act, making everyone believe she’s full of confidence—and she is when it comes to her intelligence and potential to succeed—except when compared with me. Beyond that, I know deep down she feels like she’s not good enough sometimes as a person. Especially when she compares herself to me, which again, she totally shouldn’t do, because she’s her, and she’s… _amazing_. And I’m me, and I’m amazing too. We’re just different kinds of amazing that are perfectly suited to one another, I realize, and in that moment, I feel so drawn to her that I reach out, brushing my fingertips against her cheek, as I feel a rush of tenderness sweep over me.

“You’re not an ass, either,” I say reassuringly. “So stop putting yourself down. You deserve better than that.”

Something shifts inside her in that moment, and I see an amalgam of excitement and fear sweep across her beautiful, expressive face, ultimately ending in that blank façade that tells me she’s doing what she does best: compartmentalizing. And it happened so quickly it almost made my head spin. I mean, seriously—she could _tutor_ me? Who is she kidding? She could teach a whole freakin’ Master Class!

“Could you just… tell me about this bounty hunter thing?” she asks, interrupting my mental gymnastics.

“Okay, sure,” I say with a nonchalant shrug. I know exactly what she’s doing, but I let her get away with it—this time—because I know she needs to regain some equilibrium, and honestly, I need her to be in a stable place when I tell her the truth.

“See, your dad was asking about Blair and me because, well, because… we were the ones who brought him in when he tried to skip bail,” I tell her, hoping my tone relays the fact that I hate everything about the fact that this is true.

But instead, I witness her emotions shift more rapidly than ever before, and it actually scares me a little.

“You _what_?” she demands, her tone making me feel like we’re back in the hallway after the debate tournament, and it scares me to think that I might lose her all over again. I want so badly to touch her, to pull her close and hold her, but I’m afraid she’ll pull away from me again, like she did that night at the lock-in. So instead, I respond with a gentle reminder. “Hearing me say it again won’t make it any less true, April. But I want you to know how truly sorry I am.”

But my words don’t soothe her the way I’d hoped, and suddenly she’s screaming at me as she scrambles to get out of the car, away from me, and my heart sinks down into my stomach and I fear I might actually vomit.

It takes me a second to regroup, but then I realize that she’s just doing what she always does: she’s angry and hurt, and she needs to escape because she feels overwhelmed. She probably doesn’t even know what she’s saying, and I know she’ll regret it in the end because she always does—at least with me. I know this because she told me so one night when we were here, lying on our quilt by our pond, talking. 

Gosh, we shared so many things out here by our pond. So many secrets, so many truths, about ourselves and our hopes and dreams for the future. I miss those moments more than I can express, and I want, more than anything, to have them back with her again. And so I know I can’t just let her go. Not tonight as she trying to run away from me. And not in the future. I have to keep trying—for both our sakes.

As she escapes my car, she tries to slam the door on me, but I put my foot up, blocking it from latching as I call out to her, begging her to get back in the car because it’s freezing out there, and I’m worried she’ll catch hypothermia—which I know is ridiculous—because she left her jacket behind. But that doesn’t work, so I find myself climbing out the passenger door behind her.

By the time I manage to get out the car, she’s running, and I’m reminded of how she excelled in cross-country. She’s short, so her strides aren’t as long as mine, but her stature helps cut wind resistance, and that girl’s got stamina for days, so she can wear even the most dogged opponent down with ease.

Still, I know I can outrun her because my stride is so long, so I break out into a run, chasing after her, and I catch her easily, grasping her arm, bringing us both to a halt on the cobblestone path that leads to the footbridge.

Giving her a gentle tug, I turn her toward me. 

“I can’t believe you would haul my daddy in like a common criminal,” she barks at me the moment we make direct eye contact. But her bark is far worse than her bite in this particular instance, because we both know that’s exactly what he is: a criminal who beats women and lies to make himself look like the hero.

Meeting the understandable rage in her eyes with tenderness, I offer a faint smile. “April, please, will you just… sit with me, hear me out?” I gently implore.

I see her emotions shift again, much the same as they have before, and then she’s nodding. Trying not to squeal out the delight I feel welling up in my chest, I tighten my grip on her hand, leading her over to our bench beneath the sprawling Weeping Willow where I kissed her the first time we visited our pond.

“I… I really am sorry that we were ever involved in this, April,” I say to her sincerely, praying that she’ll believe me.

She looks like she’s vacillating between anger and acceptance for a moment, and then she settles on anger. “Then why were you?” she demands. And then she sits there, arms crossed defensively, a smug expression on her face as she waits.

I have to stop and really think about that. I mean, Bowser made a point that it isn’t our job to decide if a skip is guilty or innocent. It’s our job to bring them in and let the courts decide. We were just… doing our jobs, and… then I realize that she doesn’t need to hear my excuses, or my reasons, even. She just needs to have her feelings validated, and to know that I’m sorry. Really, truly sorry, for causing her any pain.

“We shouldn’t have been,” I firmly admit, taking responsibility for our choices. “We should’ve stood up to our boss, refused the assignment, and faced the consequences. And I am so sorry our bad decision hurt you.”

She looks… almost stunned… by my response, and I can tell from the expression on her face that she’s processing—a lot.

“I thought you worked at a frozen yogurt shop,” she finally says. We both know she’s deflecting, but I let it slide for now because our relationship is more important.

“Oh, we do,” I’m quick to confirm. “We just… bounty hunt… on the side.”

“That’s… so weird,” she says, making a face that makes me giggle, and then she’s smiling back at me as I agree with her, and I’m so drawn to her that I can’t help myself—I reach out, gently touching her face. “I never meant to hurt you with this, April. I didn’t tell you to be mean.”

“Then why did you tell me?” she asks, looking almost confused. “It’s not like I would’ve ever known.”

“But _I_ would have. And I hated keeping a secret from you,” I explain to her, hot tears streaming down my cheeks. “I know how much you hate lies, and I never want to be someone who would do that to you. And you were so freaked out about your dad asking about Blair and me, and I hurt you so much when we were younger, even though I didn’t mean to, and I didn’t wanna be the cause of you worrying when there was no way he knew about us, and I just… I didn’t want you to find out from anyone else, especially him, because I can’t even imagine how much that would’ve hurt you. And I… I wanted to tell you sooner, but then we had all this family crap, but… that doesn’t even matter right now. What matters to me is you. Only you. And… I only waited this long to tell you because I wasn’t really sure you would even talk to me because, well… you basically ignore my entire existence in school now, even when I’m sitting right next to you. I really don’t know how you do that, because, like… omigosh, I can’t keep my mind off of you. But anyway, I realized I had to find a way to tell you the truth, because…”

I don’t even realize that I’m rambling again, until she grabs my face in her hands, and kisses me with a passion I never even knew she possessed—and that’s saying a lot because she’s so passionate about everything she does. It only takes a moment for me to lose myself in her, as her hands tangle in my hair, and my hands are clutching her, my fingertips digging into her waist as I’m gasping for breath, but not coming up for air, and never in my life have I felt happier.

And I know that she feels it too, because now we’re laughing together as we kiss, tears of shared joy mingling on our cheeks, and when we finally part, I pull her into my arms, and nuzzling against her ear, I whisper, “Does this mean you forgive me?”

She leans back just far enough to look into my eyes, and her hands are so soft against my face as she cradles my cheeks, smiling at me. “Always, Sterling,” she whispers to me like a promise before kissing me again. “Always…”

I smile at her, thinking how blessed I am to have this second chance with her. And then she’s rambling, making apologies and promises, saying all of the things I’ve been wishing to hear from her all these months, and when she finally comes up for air, slowing down, we’re right back where we started, and her voice is cracking as she speaks from her heart, saying, “I know how badly I hurt you, Sterl, and I’m so sorry for walking away from us. Will you forgive me please, just one last time, for being such a monumental jerk?”

Her voice is so soft, her words, so sincere, that they shatter my heart with their beauty, and I can’t help but reach out to her. “You’re not a jerk,” I gently remind her, as my fingertips play lightly across her tearstained cheek. “And even though it hurt an awful lot, I forgave you as soon as it happened.”

“How?” she asks, disbelief etched across her beautiful face. “ _Why_?”

“Because I know what it would’ve cost you to stay,” I say to her, my fingertips tangling loosely in her long, curly hair. “And I understand what it cost you to walk away.” 

“Leaving you that night was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” she quietly confesses, tears once again forming in those gorgeous blue eyes. Ordinarily, she would fight them to the death, but today she allows them to spill forth, streaming down her face, unashamedly, and I feel blessed in knowing that she trusts me enough to be so vulnerable with me. That means everything to me. _She_ means everything…

“I know…” I whisper in return, knowing in my heart that it’s true as I gently wipe away her tears with my thumb. If I’m being honest, telling her that night that I didn’t know if we could have a “someday” was the hardest moment for me, and it was as much about the lie I knew was between us as it was the hurt that I was feeling in the moment. I’m so relieved all of that is out in the open now, and that she’s forgiven me, as I have her.

“I don’t, um… I don’t really know how this is all gonna work, but I will never walk away again,” she vows, and I know that she means it with her whole heart, and that makes my own heart swell with emotion.

“Promise?” I entreat, my eyes once again filled with tears, as I search hers.

“Promise,” she murmurs softly to me as I smile at her through my tears.

She pauses for a moment, her eyes caressing me in a way that makes my body ignite with desire for her. “And just so we’re clear,” she whispers, as she leans closer, her mouth brushing lightly against mine, “since the moment we met, the only time I haven’t wanted to talk to you, is when we were doing this…”

And then she’s kissing me again, and I’m kissing her back, and this time, it feels so tender that I swear my heart might actually break—except that it doesn’t because I know that I’ve found my true center, my home, and this is just the beginning of the greatest Supercut ever produced. 

* * *

TBC in Chapter 2— _Crazy Girl_ …


	3. Crazy Girl—April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another glimpse into their future, as April continues to reflect on the day Sterling risked everything for a chance at their Someday…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimers and Other Assorted Ramblings: 
> 
> The characters Sterling and Blair Wesley and their parents, Debbie and Anderson, April and John Stevens, Ellen Johnson, Luke Creswell, Hannah B., and Ezequiel, and Willingham Academy, were created by Kathleen Jordan and are, unfortunately, owned by Netflix. The character Emma Spencer-Rivera is owned by CBS/Telenext and Proctor & Gamble. The original character Jordan Montgomery-Kundera is the property of this author, and any resemblance to fictional characters, or real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. 
> 
> Rights to the song "Crazy Girl" by the Eli Young Band from their album "Life at Best" belong Republic Nashville.
> 
> No copyright infringement intended with regard to Netflix, CBS/Telenext, Proctor & Gamble, Republic Nashville, or any other entity. With the exception of brief references to episode content, the dialogue and story content in these scenes are original. Written for fun, not profit. All other standard disclaimers apply. 
> 
> Rating: This Chapter is rated PG-13, but overall, The Supercut Chronicles will reach NC-17. 
> 
> Final Notes: I switched this from a series to an ongoing, stand-alone story to make it flow more smoothly, and I'm not certain how many chapters there will be, except to say the story will likely be quite long. The chapter numbers will not align because each "Chapter" will have two parts due to the alternating viewpoints. I hope this doesn't get too confusing. Also, as you already know, I tend to approach storytelling through flashbacks, thus, it will be important to pay attention to the dates, times, and locations as we move forward (and flash back) through the anthology of their shared experiences. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Kimberly

**The Supercut Chronicles: Anthology of Us**

Copyright November 2020

“ _Crazy girl, don’t you know that I love you?_

_I wouldn’t dream of goin’ nowhere…_ ”

— Eli Young Band, _Crazy Girl_

Chapter 2.1— _Crazy Girl_ :

**_The Prism, a BGRC Property in Provincetown, Massachusetts—Saturday, June 14, 2025, 11:30 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time_ **

We’re _late_.

A status I unequivocally detest.

And she’s running around half-naked in the master bedroom of the Penthouse Suite in the fanciest hotel in Provincetown—a graduation gift from her college bestie, whose very _out_ lesbian mothers just happen to own the place—carrying on about how she can’t decide what to wear, or how to fix her hair, or oh, my god, her shoes! Everything has to be _perfect_ , she insists, as she asks me for the millionth time whether I’m certain her impeccably pressed gray pinstriped slacks aren’t “too casual” for an afternoon out on a sailboat. Because we’re having lunch with Jordan—the bestie—and her finally girlfriend, Emma. Finally, because apparently Jordan and Emma have been playing some sort of twisted version of “Will-They/Won’t-They” since the days when Jordan, who is about to begin her Senior Year at Smith, was still ostensibly considered “Jailbait.” 

I like Jordan. A lot, actually. She’s intelligent, articulate, and super focused on her career path, which is how she and Sterling became such close friends—Sterling mentored Jordan during her Freshman Year in their Poly-Sci program. And I’m glad she finally got the girl, so to speak. But the fact that Sterling is so hyper-focused on her appearance is somewhat… disconcerting. It’s honestly not like her at all. I mean, this is the girl who wore penguin pajamas and the overstuffed fuzzy sloth slippers I bought her for Christmas to our Senior after-prom lock-in at Willingham. Thankfully that lock-in turned out infinitely better than the one previous, because I did everything right that time—including holding her hand. 

But I digress…

Anyway, I realize that I need to do something to reel her back in, because she’s about to spin out of control here, but I don’t want her to feel attacked. Lord knows I’ve done enough of that to her in the past to last us both our lifetimes. So instead, I decide on humor, and maybe even a little flirtation.

She says I’m really good at that.

Like the time I took advantage of the fact that we were the most fluent students in Spanish class to blatantly flirt with her in front of the entire room, including Mrs. O’Reilly. After school that day she showed me the fruits of my labor, so to speak, and I must say, the payoff was more than worth the risk. 

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, the summer after we got back together, she finally accepted that invitation for a swim, and it was… unforgettable.

But that’s a story for another time… 

So in the interest of getting us to the marina as close to on time as possible, I reach for her as she breezes past me for the hundredth time in less than five minutes, grasping her around the waist from behind. Pressing purposefully into her back, I leaned around her shoulder, catching her confused gaze. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I have some competition for my girlfriend’s attention,” I intone.

She laughs, and my heart soars. It always does. And then she kisses me, and my heart quiets. “Not since the first time you kissed me,” she says sweetly; and I believe her.

I brush a kiss against her bare shoulder, as I cradle her from behind, and I smile to myself as I feel the weight of her settle against me. I love this feeling more than I can express. “Then why are you so nervous, Love?” I ask, resting my chin on her shoulder as I direct her attention to her reflection in the full-length mirror in the corner of our suite. “You’re breathtaking,” I whisper softly. “No matter what you wear, or how you fix your hair, or do your make-up, or anything else. Not to mention, you’re the most incredible human I know.”

“I love you so much,” she growls passionately as she turns to me, kissing me full on the mouth. 

“And I love you more,” I whisper into her mouth, and everything in me wants to get swept up in her kiss, but I resist—at least for the moment. “Which is why I’m not letting this one slide.”

“Darn it,” she sighs, coming as close to cussing or other vulgarities as she usually gets… unless she’s trying to make me feel better when I’m upset about something, or… she’s actually _coming_ , which I find not only hot as hell, but also highly amusing. She honestly once debated me—and won, I must admit—on the premise that screaming “Oh, god,” a dozen times during sex on a Sunday morning does not, in fact, constitute a religious experience, so I’d better get my “tushy” out of bed because I was still expected in Church in thirty minutes. I was sitting there in the pew beside her in twenty-five, with Blair on the other side of me, practically busting a gut because she’d heard the entire ordeal, start to finish—and I do mean _finish_ —through their shared bathroom door. Thank god and all the saints their parents’ bedroom is on the other side of the house. 

But again, that’s another whole story.

“I was hoping you’d forget about that,” she says, once again drawing me back to the present.

I exhale a short laugh and give her that look—the one that says, “Yeah, I know,” even as I say it aloud. 

She pouts, and it’s adorable as always, but I persist, arching an eyebrow in challenge. “Spill it, Sterl,” I say insistently. 

Uncharacteristically, she frowns, and my heart slumps along with hers. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, April,” she says, almost despondently.

Tightening my hold on her waist, I shift her to my side. “Come on,” I urge, gently coaxing her toward the small sofa across the room. “Sit with me.”

Without question, she complies, and the moment we’re settled, I shift my body into hers, pressing another kiss against her bare shoulder. “Tell me what’s going on.”

She’s quiet for several moments, like she’s trying to sort things out in her head, so I wait for her, patiently, because I remember how it felt to be the one with big feelings and little idea of how to make sense of them all. And I also remember how it felt to be scared of being judged.

“I don’t know, it’s just… these people are like… mega-rich,” she finally says, and again, I give her space to sort things out in her head. “And of course, I’m certainly not poor. Not by any means. I grew up with more money than most, and I’m like… super-privileged, so I have no room to talk. But these people, they’re like, one-percenters, and though Jordan has never acted spoiled or privileged in any way, it’s not just her anymore, it’s Emma too! Between the two of them, they’re like the richest twenty-something couple on the planet.”

“That may be true,” I concede, having no real grounds to argue the point. “But I’m a one-percenter, Sterl,” I remind her gently. “And that’s never bothered you.”

I pause for a moment then, considering that I might be wrong. And if you tell anyone I said that, I might actually have to kill you—or at least call you a liar. “Or… has it?”

“What? No!” she insists, turning to meet my gaze. “But… you’re April, and… you love me,” she says, as though that should explain everything.

I offer a quiet smile, and nod in agreement. “Yes, I do love you,” I say with conviction. “So does Jordan. And you’ve known Emma for a while now, so that doesn’t compute,” I assert, gently calling her on her crap. “What’s really going on here?”

When silence looms, I meet her gaze, and the lost expression in her eyes tells me everything I need to know. “This is about your parents,” I say knowingly, and all she can manage in response is a nod as she collapses into my arms in a fit of tears.

I find myself helpless to do anything except to simply hold her right now, and while it makes me feel almost useless, it seems to be exactly what she needs as she wraps herself around me, and settles into my embrace, her tears soaking through my shirt where her head lays against my chest. So I whisper quiet reassurances to her as I rake my fingers through her long, streaky-blonde hair and scatter soft kisses across her forehead and temple and the top of her head, and somewhere in the midst of it all, I lose track of the time, and it doesn’t even matter, because this is Sterling, and she needs me, and nothing else in the world will ever be as important as being there for her in this moment.

“I’m so sorry, April,” she says in frantic apology when she’s finally able to form words again. “I thought I was over all of this; that I’d worked it all out in therapy, but… I guess I was wrong. Way wrong. And I’m so sorry…”

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Sterl,” I say reassuringly, as I gently wipe the tears from her cheeks. “They lied to you, not the other way around.”

“I know,” she says, sniffing back tears. “And they lied to protect me. I understand that, but… it doesn’t make it hurt any less. Or help me feel any more like her daughter.”

“Yeah, I know, Honey,” I say to her soothingly, as I stroke her hair, tucking loose strands of it behind her ear. 

“Debbie, that is. Not Dana,” she clarifies with another sniffle. “Though some days I feel more like Dana’s daughter than I’d like.”

“Which… is why this thing with Jordan and Emma is bothering you,” I presume, and she confirms my assertion with a nod of her head against my chest as she clings to me.

Instinctively, I pull her closer, and as she burrows further into me as I lean back into the sofa cushions, I’m reminded of all those moments where she was my rock, my fortress against the storms, especially where my father was concerned, and it draws out the protector in me, and makes me love her even more. 

“I know this must seem silly, the money thing and all,” she says. “I mean, so what if Debbie isn’t my bio mom. She’s the only mom I’ve ever known. And Dad is still my dad, and even if Blair isn’t my twin, she is still my sister—my half-sister, anyway, which is still totally weird to say but like, whatever… and it’s the Wesley side of the family that comes from money, but…”

“It’s not silly at all,” I reassure her gently, but with conviction. “Your experiences, your feelings about all of this, are valid, Sterl, no matter what anyone else says or even thinks. You and Blair are the ones who were hurt the most, and no one has the right to dictate how either of you feel about it, or how long it should take you to heal.”

“I really do love you,” she says with a soft laugh and heartfelt tone, and my heart soars once again.

“I know,” I whisper to her, pressing another light kiss to her temple. “And I love you. Endlessly.”

She smiles through her tears, and my soul feels lighter. “Lucky me,” she whispers, brushing her mouth against mine.

“Lucky _us_ ,” I whisper, returning her kiss.

“Speaking of the richest twenty-something couple on the planet… You know who could’ve given Jordan and Emma a run for their money?” she says randomly after we break from our kiss.

I arch an eyebrow, curious as to where she’s going with this. It will either be crazy… or amusing. Probably both. “Who?” I dare to ask.

“Taylor and Katy—if they’d gotten their crap together sooner,” she says with a grin.

“Taylor… and Katy,” I say, emphasizing their names as I roll them around in my head.

“Yup,” she confirms, and I just give her that look. She’s been obsessed with shipping them since well, since forever, and as appealing as that is to me as well, I don’t think it’s realistic, or even fair to either one of them. I mean, despite their very obvious support of our community, neither of them has ever made a statement about their own sexualities, at least not beyond the fact that they’ve always seemingly been paired with men, so who am I to question—No matter _how_ gay most of their music sounds?

“What?” she says innocently. “You know their history, the ‘Bad Blood’ and all. I mean, I know it’s only been rumored that that song was about the trouble between them, and even then, they tried to play it off as some platonic ‘breakup,’ but like, come on, really? And you and I both know from our own experience the raw passion that simmers beneath the surface when there’s that kind of tension between two people.”

“Sterling…” I intone, and she just gives me that look—the one that tells me she knows I know she’s right. Which is why she continues, and honestly, I’m thoroughly amused at this point, so I simply wait to see what she says next.

“And you’ve seen the pictures of them together. Like, are you kidding me? They _sizzle_. And the ‘You Need to Calm Down’ video that was so chock-full of gay it made the San Francisco Pride Parade look like a MAGA march. I mean, they were dressed up as a cheeseburger and fries, April,” she persists. “Seriously, has a more perfect pairing ever existed?”

“No,” I’m forced to admit because it’s… absolutely true. “I suppose not.”

“I’m tellin’ you, there’s somethin’ there,” she insists.

And that’s when I laugh because I have absolutely no retort to any of this, and even if I did, I wouldn’t want to debate her on it because, like her, I would much rather believe that she’s right—Taylor and Katy are perfect in and of themselves, but together, they would be an unstoppable force.

Just like Sterling and me.

I take her face in my hands, halting her rambling with a kiss. “I love you, Crazy Girl,” I say with affection as I meet her gaze. “Now will you please go put a shirt on so we can get to lunch before it’s dinner time? We’ve kept Jordan and Emma waiting long enough.”

“Oh, they’re not waiting,” she mentions nonchalantly. “I texted Jordan an hour ago and told her we were running late because you couldn’t decide what to wear.”

“You what?” I question, not knowing whether I should laugh… or throttle her. “I decided on jeans and this Harvard hoodie the moment I rolled out of bed.”

“Did you though?” she grimaces, eyeing me up and down. “Compared to you, I’m feeling a little overdressed.”

“Not without a shirt, you’re not,” I point out. “Now would you please go throw on some jeans and a sweatshirt, so we can get out of here?”

“Okay, fine, but I’m stealing the new Yale one my parents got you for graduation,” she announces as she leaps from the sofa, bounding across the room toward the dresser where my clothing is neatly tucked away.

“Don’t you dare!” I screech, scrambling after her. “I haven’t even worn that one yet.”

“Too late,” she torments, yanking it from the drawer and pulling it over her head.

I stop in my tracks, planting a hand on my hip as I give her that look—the one that says, _Really?_ “Seriously, Sterl?” I intone. “That’s like, the equivalent of licking every muffin in the box just to keep Blair from getting any of them.”

When she smirks in response, I realize that I’ve waltzed right into whatever’s coming, so I just start to nod in acceptance of my defeat.

“It’s not even close,” she argues, rolling her eyes at my over-exaggeration. “But since you brought it up, I’ve only ever been interested in licking your muffin, Love,” she flirtatiously intones.

And there it is. Spoken so sweetly no unsuspecting church lady would ever decipher the double entendre, and yet, my entire body feels flushed and the tips of my ears are burning like wildfire.

_Game. On_.

“Fine,” I say, as I glance toward her suitcase where half of her clothing is hanging over the sides haphazardly—a fundamental difference in our personalities, but one I’ve accepted, and am willing to live with. “Then I’m calling dibs on that vintage Swiftie t-shirt my mom got you from her _Fearless_ tour.”

“You wouldn’t,” she says to me, almost like a dare.

“Oh, I would,” I reply, lunging toward her suitcase because I know it’s in there. 

“But your boobs are bigger than mine; you’ll stretch it out,” she whines as she moves across the room toward me, and I just laugh as I wrap my arms around her waist and kiss her. “My boobs are not bigger,” I’m quick to correct. “And besides, I don’t really want your t-shirt, Love,” I reassure her, kissing her again.

“Well, thank goodness,” she says, sounding relieved. “For a minute there you were starting to act way too much like Blair. After your comment about the muffins, I thought you might even do something gross like, lick it or… whatever.”

I arch an eyebrow at her. “First, if I _were_ inclined to lick something of yours, a t-shirt would not be my go-to,” I intone, taking a moment to thoroughly enjoy the beautiful shade of crimson my comment has splashed across her cheeks. She totally deserved it after that muffin comment. “And second, you started it,” I remind her. “And you were acting as much like Blair as I was.”

She opens her mouth to protest, and then closes it again and crunches up her nose, thinking for a moment. “I was, wasn’t I?” she says, more audible realization than question.

“‘fraid so, Honey,” I grimace, and we frown in unison.

“We’re totally screwed,” she signs, and all I can do is laugh in response, until suddenly she’s kissing me as she backs me up toward the bed.

“Not that I’m complaining,” I murmur into her mouth, “but… what are you doing?”

She grins against my mouth, and I know this is gonna be good. “Well, I figure if we’re gonna be screwed anyway, it should at least feel good. And then there was that whole comment about licking something other than my t-shirt…”

I laugh. Heartily. “Can’t argue with… any of that, really,” I admit, willingly surrendering to her as she pushes me down on our bed, climbing on top of me. And as I’m peering up at her, I feel a roguish grin trip across my lips. “Speaking of licking things, just… don’t forget my muffin,” I add for good measure, and then she’s laughing along with me, until our laughter turns to moaning. There’s a Biblical joke in there somewhere, but at the moment, I’m far more interested in what she’s doing to me.

Our encounter is swift, yet satisfying, our hands and mouths connecting in all of the places that time and intimate experience have shown us will garner the most visceral responses in the briefest amount of time, and a few minutes later, we’re both breathless and sated, yet always, always wanting more. And she kisses me again, this time slow and deep—a promise of more, later, always—and tells me she loves me before slipping from our bed into the bathroom to untangle the mess I’ve made of her hair, and I’m left to my own devices.

I lift my hips to pull my jeans back into place, and I feel a shiver of delight trickle through my veins at the memory of her soft, warm mouth on me as I settle back into my pillow while refastening them, and a satisfied grin plays across my lips as I think about the fact that her perfectly pressed pinstripe pants are now a wrinkly heap on the floor.

And then the tears begin to flow as I reflect on the devotion in her voice as she whispered that she loves me, and my thoughts drift back to where they left off when she awoke this morning, distracting me from my trip down memory lane, and I am once again reminded of how blessed I am to have the love of this incredible, passionate woman, and how grateful I feel that I was able to recognize it before it was too late…

**_Duck Pond Park, Atlanta, Georgia—Wednesday, March 25, 2020, 6:15 p.m. Eastern Standard Time_ **

Though I honestly don’t recall how we ended up here, the next several hours are spent in the back seat of Sterling’s car, doing just about everything short of actually _doing it_. Not because we don’t want to, but because she is worth so much more than just some quickie in the back seat of a cramped car—and frankly, so am I. It’s like I told her the last time we in this position, pun totally intended—If I gave in to my intense urge to ravage her, then we’d have nowhere to go, and whenever this happens for us—and it definitely will—I want to savor every moment of it.

If I’m being real though, despite my resolve, we almost did that night… except that it was Blair who interrupted us this time, instead of my mother—that’s a whole other story—but before Blair blew up Sterling’s phone there were so, so many moments worth remembering, including the conversation about the cultural significance of Taylor Swift’s “You Need To Calm Down” video in our lives, among other monumentally important truths…

“Omigosh, I’ve been meaning to ask you: What do you think about Taylor’s Video of the Year at last years’ MTV Awards?” she asks me, her tone tinged with excitement because she knows my level of affection where Taylor Swift is concerned is second only to her own.

I just grin at her. I can’t help myself. “You mean the one that looks like a Pride parade on steroids?”

Her blue eyes widen in exaggeration. “I mean Taylor and Katy!” she exclaims, and I don’t need her to say another word. I know exactly where she’s headed with this.

Raising an eyebrow, I level her with a look. “Isn’t Blair the one who’s known for crazy hookup theories?”

“It isn’t a crazy hookup theory,” she pouts. “It’s a love connection.”

And then I’m laughing. “You are never gonna give up on that, are ya, Crazy Girl,” I say, affectionately referring to her by the nickname I gave her when she decided to follow Blair full speed ahead off the bluffs into the river at summer camp when we were ten. You couldn’t’ve paid me enough to join them because, first of all… snakes. And second, that water was disgusting. And did I mention snakes? I shudder at the thought; and have often wondered if there wasn’t something oddly… Freudian… about that. 

“Nope,” she grins, playfully popping the ‘p’ just like she did when we were in grade school. “And besides, if Blair is the crazy one, then why do you call me ‘Crazy Girl’?” she asks, emphasizing their dichotomous identities.

I can feel myself making a face at her as my brain computes the reason. “You followed your nutbag sister off a cliff!” I exclaim, hard-pressed to understand why she doesn’t see that.

She stops, mouth wide open as if she’s about to protest, and I can tell by the expression on her face that she’s thinking. Hard. And a moment later, she sighs, “Point taken. But I’m tellin’ you, April…” she intones.

Chuckling, I shake my head. But I have no room to argue, given that a few months ago I never would’ve believed that Sterling and I would be an actual thing, and now… here we are, and… I’ve seriously never been happier in my life. “Okay, okay, I won’t argue,” I say, raising my hands in surrender. “You and I are proof positive that nothing is impossible.”

Instantly, that goofy Sterling grin hijacks her lips, and she’s squealing giddily as she claps her hands, and I find myself laughing again because she’s just so freaking cute when she’s excited. And then her arms are around me, and she’s pulling me close. “You’re absolutely right,” she says with quiet confidence, “nothing’s impossible for us, April. You and I, we can have it all.”

Leaning into her, I brush my mouth against hers as I wrap my arms around her neck. “Yes, we can,” I quietly agree, leaning my forehead against hers. “And this time, I promise not to hold anything back from you.”

“And I promise not to push too far, too fast,” she vows with such sincerity in her eyes, in her tone, that I truly can’t hold back.

I kiss her again, this time more suggestively, and the soft moan she emits as I move my mouth along her jaw line offers me courage. “What if I want you to push sometimes?” I murmur against her ear, my voice low and suggestive.

She shivers in my arms, and leans back, locking into my gaze. “You mean, like… now?” she inquires, slowly searching my eyes.

Suddenly feeling shy, I bite my lower lip as I nod. And she smiles and kisses me, one hand tangled in my hair, the other wrapped firmly around my waist, pulling me on top of her as she leans back into the quilt that’s piled up against the back-seat door. Her body is so soft beneath me as, effortlessly, my hips slide between her thighs, and I feel the warmth of her against me and my own body reacts on instinct—a twinge of desire deep in my belly. 

Emboldened, I shift upward, my body scraping against hers in all the right places. I know, because it draws a raucous moan from her lips, along with my name, which sends a shock of excitement through my own body, and threading my fingers through her hair, I deepen our kiss.

* * *

**_Duck Pond Park, Atlanta, Georgia—Wednesday, March 25, 2020, 7:45 p.m. Eastern Standard Time_ **

My next conscious memory that doesn’t involve an intense urge to ravage her is the sensation of her fingertips lightly caressing my arm as we lay there together, our bodies intertwined at every possible juncture after making out for… I don’t even know how long. All I know is that I’ve never felt more turned on—and judging from the sounds she was making, and the way she was moving beneath me, I’d have to say the same is true for Sterling. Which is probably why she put the brakes on, much to my chagrin…

But anyway, here we are, and I’m lying in her arms feeling like I’ve never been so close to home, and she’s kissing the top of my head as she hums along to the melody of “Supercut,” as it plays from her phone in the floorboard, and my curiosity gets the better of me.

“This song,” I say to her, tentatively broaching the subject, as I tilt my head upward, brushing a kiss against her chin. “It was playing when you started the car earlier.” I don’t even know why I didn’t just say the title. It’s not like we weren’t both intimately familiar with it; that much was obvious.

“What about it?” she asks, sounding so curious and open to me, and yet, I’m still so afraid of, well, anything and everything about the way I feel for her, but mostly of being judged by her which, I know in my heart is ridiculous, I mean, I trust her with my life! But my anxiety still tells me I’m a fool sometimes, which makes it really hard to embrace vulnerability. 

“I’ve listened to it a lot these past few months,” I confess, purposefully avoiding eye contact. “Like… all the time.”

“Oh? And why is that?” she asks. Her tone says she’s even more curious now, and though she tries to sound surprised, I’m sure she’s not the least little bit. Despite our squabbles over the playlist for the lock-in and her ridiculous assertion that “Don’t Stop Believin’” was an inappropriate selection, we really do have similarly eclectic tastes in music. It’s one of the things that’s always connected us, even when we weren’t exactly friends. 

“Because… it’s everything I’ve been thinking and feeling. Everything I’ve wanted to say,” I admit, and I feel my body stiffen against hers as I brace myself for the fallout—an instinctual reaction that I’ve developed from a lifetime of never knowing whether my feelings will be embraced and celebrated—or downplayed and ridiculed by my father.

“Wanna know a secret?” she whispers to me, as she runs her fingers through my hair, and kisses the top of my head again.

I feel a faint smile flicker across my face, and my body relaxes against hers as I’m reminded once again that I’m safe with her. “I wanna know all your secrets,” I say to her, and I feel the smile that forms on her cheek where it leans against the top of my head.

“I’ve listened to it a lot too,” she admits without a moment’s hesitation. “Like a lot, a lot.”

Now it’s my turn to be curious. “Why?” I ask.

“Same reason as you,” she answers, and I feel my heart breathe a sigh of relief as I tighten the hold I have around her abdomen. “So many times, I wanted to reach out to you, April. To call you and tell you how sorry I was for pushing you so hard. To make sure you were doing okay, because… you just seemed so unhappy, and it made me feel so sad.”

“Why didn’t you?” I ask without judgment, already knowing the answer.

“Because you asked me for space, and I needed to honor that,” she says simply.

I shift upward, leaning on my forearm beside her so I can look into her eyes in the moonlight that filters through the car window. _My god, she is breathtaking._ “How are you always so selfless?”

“Believe me, I’m not,” she says with a haunting laugh, and suddenly I feel worried. Very worried. “What’s up, Sterl?” I ask gently, knowing something isn’t right.

She looks a little discomfited, but she doesn’t hold back her response. “The last few months while you’ve been working on things with your dad, I’ve had a few… daddy issues of my own,” she admits. “Mommy issues too, actually. And… to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure which has been harder.”

Reaching up, I brush my fingertips against her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Sterl,” I whisper softly, wanting her to know that I’m here for her, but not pushing for things she’s not ready share. I know how that feels, and I would never want to do that to her. “Anything I can do?”

An uncharacteristic frown on her face makes my heart ache for her as she slowly shakes her head. “There’s no amount of anything that will change the truth,” she says. “So I just have to learn to live with it.”

She pauses for a moment, looking almost hesitant to continue. I offer her an encouraging smile and watch as something shifts in her eyes. Finally, she says, “My therapist calls it ‘Radical Acceptance’.”

I’m surprised to hear the therapist thing, because Sterling is one of the most stable people I’ve ever known, so whatever has happened, I know it must have totally rocked her world. But there’s no judgement whatsoever, because I can relate. “Yeah, I get that,” I sigh in commiseration. “Radical Acceptance, I mean. _My_ therapist says I need to develop it to accept the fact that my dad is an abusive, racist, misogynistic, homophobic, xenophobic asshole, and there’s nothing I can do to change him. And that’s a hard pill to swallow, let me tell you.”

“Wait,” she says, sounding both excited and surprised. “You have a therapist too?”

I shift my gaze, a flood of shame engulfing me. It happens so quickly that I’m powerless to stop it. But a moment later, I take back control reminding myself there’s nothing shameful about seeing a therapist, and I shift back again, locking my gaze into hers. “Yes,” I answer, with the same confidence and pride as I had the afternoon I told her I was a lesbian.

Her smile makes my heart skip a beat. “And they actually said that about your dad?”

She looks almost amused, and I can’t help but smile in return. “Well, not in so many words,” I admit with a shrug. “But… you get the idea.”

Lightly touching my arm, she gives it a supportive squeeze. “So I guess things really have been rough with your dad,” she says with such empathy it nearly makes me cry.

Unable to form words at the moment, I simply nod.

“I’m so sorry, April,” she says, gently stroking my cheek. “I know what it meant to you to fix your relationship with him. I can’t imagine how much this must hurt.”

“It sucks, for sure,” I admit. “But it is, what it is, right?”

The last part comes out as avoidance, rather than radical acceptance, so before she can call me on it, I swallow hard, and force myself to look up into her eyes, knowing I’ll find strength there. “My parents… they’re uh, they’re separating,” I announce. “Which we all know ultimately means a divorce.”

“Oh—,” she says, looking surprised, but not appalled, which makes me feel a whole lot better. I just hope other people from church take the news this well. I hate having to worry that my mom will be judged by the people who should be supporting her. 

“That’s why my mom suggested therapy,” I explain. “But it’s not why I agreed. I’m not the least bit sorry about the separation, or divorce, or whatever they’re calling it,” I say, feeling frustrated by my dad’s unwillingness to just accept that his reign of terror is over. “My mom deserves so much better than him.”

“Why did you agree?” she asks.

“You… are a master of deflection,” I say, framing my accusation with a whimsical smile in hopes that she won’t take it harshly. “We were talking about you?”

“Yes, we were,” she readily agrees, but before I can breathe a sigh of relief, she turns it right back on me. “And now, we’re talking about you.”

Relenting, I give a casual shrug. “Honestly?” I ask.

“Always,” she says firmly.

“Because I needed a safe place to talk about you,” I answer, stealing a furtive glance at her. “About how you make me feel.”

A flirtatious smile trips across her lips. “And how is that?”

I feel the tips of my ears begin to burn. A moment later, my cheeks are on fire, and her grin widens in amusement. “Stop it,” I whine, which only makes her laugh, and me blush even more profusely.

And then she leans close, nuzzling against my ear. “How do I make you feel, April?” she practically purrs in my ear, and suddenly I feel a little dizzy.

_I love you, Crazy Girl_.

That’s the first thing that comes to mind, and I want so desperately to say it out loud. To tell her how much I love her—how much I always have. But I’m terrified that she’ll think I’m the crazy one! I mean, we’ve barely been together, so that’s ridiculous, right? And yet, I’ve loved her for so long now that I can no longer recall a time when it wasn’t the wholeness of my truth, and as much as I hated it, that rift between us in the fifth grade actually turned out to be a blessing in disguise, because I don’t know how long I could’ve managed to keep my feelings for her hidden. Having a reason to hate her made it so much easier—at least until I realized that the opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s apathy, and I was definitely not apathetic when it came to Sterling Wesley. I was full-on engaged in the act of hating her, because the love I felt for her was so completely fucking overwhelming if I’d dared admit even the notion of it to myself, I think I would’ve lost my mind.

Deflecting, because I can’t possibly say all of that to her, breathily, I ask, “You mean, like… right now?”

I feel her smile against my ear, and the warmth of her breath makes me tingle all over. “Yes,” she whispers, as she bites gently on my lobe, sending a shot of heat coursing through my veins, and I shiver incongruously. 

“Like my body’s on fire,” I somehow manage to confess.

“You didn’t tell your therapist that, did you?” she asks teasingly.

“Of course not,” I answer abruptly. And then I feel a wave of bashfulness hit me as I recall something that I did tell her. She notices the shift, and reaches over, lifting my chin with her fingertips.

“What did you tell them?” she asks intuitively.

My face flushes again, and my lips tremble as I look into her eyes and answer. “That being with you makes me happier than I ever thought possible, and… I miss you like crazy.”

She smiles at me and presses a light kiss to my lips. “What a coincidence,” she says sounding almost delighted, “I feel the same exact way about being with you.”

“Yeah, but… you’re like, perpetually happy,” I say to her, and she tilts her head in response.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” she asks, a mixture of confusion and wonder in her tone.

“Get what?” I ask, a bit confused myself, and I have to admit, her response catches me completely off-guard.

“How much you mean to me,” she says, and there’s such tenderness in her voice that it brings tears to my eyes. “April, I haven’t just been missing you since we broke up. I’ve been missing you since the fifth grade. Ellen was right. We were so close when we were younger, and…”

She sounds so wistful, and it forces me to remember how lonely I’ve felt without her—and not just since our break-up. “Inseparable,” I whisper longingly.

Her eyes are sad when she smiles at me, and I know exactly what she’s feeling. Those are years we’ll never get back, and despite knowing that it’s all in the past, I still hate myself a little for allowing the rift to widen between us. Why didn’t I just ask, instead of assuming the worst of her back then?

But then she’s grinning, as though she holds some hilarious secret, and I simply have to know. “What?” I ask, unable to resist.

“Blair hated that so much,” she says with a soft laugh, and I can’t help but remember nights spent with the two of them. Sleepovers where we would share Sterling’s bed, all three of us piled in beneath the covers. I always ended up between the two of them, and always, Sterling and I would be curled up together, giggling beneath the blankets. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Blair, it was just that I gravitated so naturally toward Sterling, always, because she was so kind, and loving, and joyful all the time, and I craved those things in her.

“She really did, didn’t she,” I say rhetorically, as I recall all the huffiness, and the pouting, the steely-eyed glares, and the endless drama because Sterling was paying too much attention to me, and not enough to her. Jesus, Blair can be exhausting sometimes. But she’s Sterling’s sister, so I have to try with her. “It’s no wonder she’s hates me so much, even now.”

“Blair doesn’t hate you. I promise,” she says reassuringly, but still, I have my doubts.

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” I say doubtfully. 

“Yes, we will,” she says with a knowing grin. And then she shifts the conversation back to where we started. “Anyway… enough about Blair! We were talking about how much you mean to me,” she gently reminds me, and I respond with a sheepish grin.

“You were saying?” I prod, playing along.

“You were my best friend, April,” she whispers sincerely. “Aside from my family, I don’t have a single happy childhood memory that doesn’t include you. And then you were gone, and my heart ached for you, but you were so angry with me, and I didn’t understand why.”

I open my mouth to speak, but she stills me with a gentle hand against my arm as she locks her gaze into mine. “I do now,” she reassures me, “but back then, every time you would explode on me, or accuse me of being fake, it broke my heart because you matter so much to me. You always have.”

“I’m so sorry, Sterling,” I say to her, my own heart breaking for the pain I’d caused her all those years. “I—”

“Don’t, okay?” she says gently, as she reaches out this time, pressing her fingers against my lips to quiet me. “We worked through all of that months ago,” she reminds me, referring to a conversation we had on that quilt beneath our willow tree. “There’s no need to rehash it all now.”

Silenced, I simply nod, and she touches my face, cradling it in her hand.

“What I need you to understand right now is that this thing between us, it’s everything I never knew I needed—until it happened, and then everything finally made sense.”

Her palm feels warm against my cheek, and I tilt my head leaning into it as I offer a crooked smile. “It did for me too. Though… if I’m being honest, it didn’t catch me off-guard like it did you,” I confess. “Well, the fact that you kissed me totally caught me off-guard, but… my response, that wasn’t a surprise at all—at least not to me. I’ve been crazy for you since pre-school, Sterl.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and my brain starts telling me stories about how once again, I’ve said too much, that I _am_ too much. But then she’s smiling at me, an amalgam of sheer joy with a hint of mischief twinkling in her crystal-clear blue eyes, and my lungs burn as I feel myself release a breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding. “What about Adele Meisner?”

I smile at her, and a little giggle escapes, causing my face to flush again. “Adele Meisner never held a candle to you,” I declare. “I just… distracted myself with her because I thought there was no way you would ever feel for me, what I feel for you.”

“Well, I do,” she says without hesitation, and I swear my heart burst into a million giddy little pieces. “And I think I always have.”

“Really?” I want to believe her with all my heart, but I’m terrified of it at the same time.

“Yeah. Really,” she says softly to me, as she touches my face with her fingertips. There’s something haunting in her eyes, and I want to ask her about it, but before I can form words, she says, “When you walked away, I felt such a profound sadness inside, April. And it took me a while to figure out why, because first I needed to figure out who I am,” she explains.

And then she frowns. “All the mommy and daddy issues certainly didn’t help with that,” she mentions, making it sound like a side note, but I can tell it’s a major theme.

I reach over, taking her hand in mine. “I’m here to listen, if you’re willing to share,” I say supportively, and she squeezes my hand in response.

“Are you sure it’s not too much for you?” she asks considerately. “I mean, you’re going through a lot right now, too.”

“I’m sure,” I say with certainty. “Please, tell me?”

“It’s a lot,” she says, sounding overwhelmed. “And I’m not really even sure where to start.”

“Well then, just… start with one fact,” I suggest, and she nods her agreement.

“Okay,” she says. And then she contemplates for what feels like forever, but in reality, is probably only a minute or so, before she finally says, “My mother has an identical twin.”

“Oh,” I say, hoping I don’t look as surprised as I feel. “Well, that makes sense,” I reason. “Twins do run in families.”

She’s nodding, and I think things are going really well. Until she throws me a curveball. “Yes, they do,” she agrees. “But… not in mine.”

I have an excellent poker face, but right at this moment, I realize there’s a good chance it’s failing me. “I’m… sorry. I don’t understand.”

She takes a deep breath and lets out a heavy sigh. “Blair is my sister, but… she isn’t my twin, April,” she explains.

“But… you’re the same age,” I point out unhelpfully.

“Well, technically, she’s my half-sister,” she expounds, her eyes filled with sadness, and… some other emotion I can’t quite identify.

Even without all the details, I understand that this news is devastating for her, and in that moment, my heart breaks for both her _and Blair_ which, I don’t fully understand, but is… oddly okay with me. I don’t have time to debate that dynamic though, because all I want to do is comfort her. “Sterling…” 

But she holds up her free hand—the other is still clasped firmly in mine—and says, “Let me finish, okay?”

I nod in response. I can’t even imagine how difficult this is for her, and I don’t want to make it any worse.

“Our dad is our dad, but… my mom’s twin, well… she’s my biological mother,” she explains as simply as she might order a burger, fries and a Coke, and I feel my concern for her increase exponentially.

“She’s… a little messed up,” she continues, “and I guess she’s always been kind of jealous of my mom, so… when my parents started dating, Dana—that’s her name—pulled a fast one and seduced my dad. He didn’t know about Dana—not yet anyway—and he thought she was my mom, and then Presto, Change-o: Nine months later, he found himself the proud papa to two baby girls, with identical twin mothers. Dana didn’t want a kid, but she’s super against abortion, so she agreed to let our parents raise us as twins, and now… here we are.”

Now I’m certain my poker face is failing me, and I don’t have a clue where to even begin expressing how much my heart is hurting for her, so I simply reach for her, taking her into my arms. She comes willingly to me, and the moment she’s fully in my embrace, the brave façade breaks, and she begins to cry. And not just a soft cry of relief, but a gut-wrenching sob that shakes her entire body along with mine.

“I am so, so sorry, Honey,” I whisper softly to her as I pull her impossibly closer. “I’m right here with you; just let it all out,” I quietly encourage.

And she does.

Clinging to me like a life-preserver, she cries until every last tear is spent, and then she crumbles against me as I lean back into the bundled-up quilt against the door, the tremors still jolting her body. “I had no idea you were going through all of this, Sterl,” I say softly against her hair. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you. I should have been…”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she attempts to reassure me. But I know she’s wrong, so I persist.

“It’s absolutely my fault,” I insist. “I chose my asshole father over you and walked away when you needed me the most.”

“You chose your family, April,” she points out. “I can’t fault you for that.”

“Would you have done the same?” I challenge.

“What?” she asks, sounding confused.

“If you could choose to have your family back, fully intact, as if none of this were true, but you had to walk away from me to make it happen, would you?”

It’s an impossible question, and I know that’s unfair, but I really need her to understand.

Leaning back, she looks me directly in the eyes, and says, “Never.”

“I rest my case,” I say with a hint of bittersweet satisfaction. She answered exactly the way I’d expected her to, thus proving my point that it really was my fault that I wasn’t there when she needed me the most.

“That’s really an unfair comparison, April,” she says reasonably. “My family is still intact. It may not look the same from the inside, but I still get to be loved by the people I love. You had to give up the relationship with your dad.”

“I didn’t give anything up,” I argue. “He threw it away.”

“Point taken,” she readily agrees. “But the bottom line is: you don’t get to have that relationship with someone who has always been important to you, because maintaining the relationship forces you to compromise who you are, and what you value. I don’t have that battle. At least, not anymore.”

“Wait—you told your parents?”

My pulse is racing, and I know I sound panicked, but I can’t help it. A lifetime of hiding my most fundamental truth makes me hypervigilant about it.

She touches my face, and my panic wanes. It’s still there, simmering beneath the surface, of course, but I don’t feel like I’m about to jump out of my skin anymore. “I didn’t tell them about you,” she says reassuringly. “I would never hurt you that way. But yes, I did tell them that I’m bisexual which, I totally figured out, like… finally. Months of therapy will do that to ya.”

My heart does a backflip in response to her announcement, and suddenly I feel myself smiling despite my irrational fears. “I’m really happy for you, Sterl,” I say to her sincerely. “Sexuality is hard to define sometimes.”

Leaning down, she brushes her mouth against mine. “I didn’t need to define it to understand how I feel about you,” she declares.

“Hard same,” I readily agree, with dopey eyes and a crooked grin on my face. “I had… no idea what a lesbian was when I first realized I was crushing on you,” I admit. “All I knew was that every minute I spent with you made me feel happier than the one before, and when I lost that, I was crushed—both times.”

She smiles into my eyes and my heart does another flip. “Well, you’ll never lose me again,” she promises.

“And you’ll never lose me,” I vow in return.

“More than anything, I wanna believe that’s true,” she says quietly, her clear blue eyes looking to me for reassurance. 

Reaching out, I brush a wayward lock of her blondish mane from her eyes, allowing my fingertips to linger on her temple and cheek as I slowly pull my hand away. “It is, I promise,” I say, offering what she seeks. “I prayed too hard to get you back, to ever risk losing you again. Most people never even get a second chance, and yet, you’ve given me a third. I wouldn’t dream of goin’ anywhere, Sterling.”

“Neither would I,” she whispers softly before she kisses me again. And this time, despite all of my doubts, and my fears, and my trademark over-the-top cynicism, I believe with my whole heart that her promises are true. More importantly, I know from the way she touches me, the way she opens herself to me, she wholeheartedly believes that mine are too.

* * *

**_The Prism, a BGRC Property in Provincetown, Massachusetts—Saturday, June 14, 2025, 12:45 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time_ **

“Are we ready to roll?” she chirps brightly as she emerges from the bathroom looking like an absolute vision in a pair of extremely well-fitting jeans and my brand-new Yale sweatshirt, the cute custom Chucks Blair bought her for Christmas on her feet, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. The steely blue of the fabric brings out the color of her eyes, and the fact that it’s a bit oversized allows it to slip over a slender shoulder, showing off a delightful patch of bare skin surrounding the thin strip of light gray tank top beneath, and suddenly I find myself wishing we didn’t have to leave this room.

I shrug noncommittally. “Or I could just have you for lunch,” I intone.

There’s little in her expression that hides her very ardent interest in my offer—or the fact that she’s disappointed we have plans. “How ‘bout for dinner, instead?” she says, offering a compromise.

Grinning in response, I declare, “It’s a date.”

A broad smile appears on her face, and then lightning fast, she shifts her gaze to the nightstand beside our bed, and immediately I recognize her target: the car keys. “I am totally driving today,” she announces.

“Don’t even think about it,” I warn, but I can’t blame her for wanting the experience. It’s a sleek metallic blue Aston Martin convertible that belongs to Jordan’s parents, and I’ve been itching to drive it since the moment she called to tell us where to find the keys. “I called dibs last night.”

She grins. “You snooze, you lose,” she torments, as she lunges for the prize, grabbing them before I can even get halfway across the room.

When I reach her, I wrap my arms around her from behind, and begin to wrestle with her, grabbing haphazardly for the keys. I manage a couple of times to get my hands on them, but somehow, she seems to keep them from me—at one point, dangling them over her head, knowing that I can’t reach them.

A last-ditched effort, I jump, almost grabbing them from her hand, but she pivots just in time, turning her head to peer at me over her shoulder, as she hunches over like a football player trying to protect the ball. “Do I have to shove these keys down my jeans to keep you from taking them from me?”

The challenge in her tone matches that in her eyes, and I simply smirk in response. “I won’t hesitate to go after them.”

It’s her turn to smirk now. “Promise?” she intones.

I arch an eyebrow. “Don’t tempt me,” I warn.

And then she’s laughing as she tosses me the keys. “I just wanted to torture you for a minute,” she says as I catch them in my hand.

“You really miss your sister, don’t you?” I dare to presume. She’s been acting like Blair all day, so it was kind of hard to miss.

She scrunches up her nose. “Is it that obvious?”

“‘Lil bit,” I say, pinching my thumb and forefinger together to offer a measure.

Her face flushes, and she looks at me a bit sheepishly, so I reach for her, gently touching her face. “Hey,” I whisper softly, “it’s okay, you know. I miss her too.” Never in my life would I ever have thought I would utter those words, but… here we are. Since I’m being honest, I miss Blair like, a lot, actually. Not that I’d ever admit that to her, of course. I’d never hear the end of it. But that doesn’t make it any less true.

“I’ll drive next time,” she says, by way of distraction, drawing me from my musings about her sister. “I’d rather watch you enjoy the experience.”

I understand her need for distance from this truth. The past four years have been hard on her, being separated from Blair after living as her other half for eighteen years; especially since the separation came so closely on the heels of learning they weren’t actually twins. As positive as she always is, that truth absolutely crushed her, and I honestly don’t know that she’ll ever fully recover. And so, in this moment, I seek to give her respite from the pain. “You…” I say, dragging out the word as I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her to me, “are far too good to me.”

“We’re good to each other,” she declares, taking my face in her hands and kissing me lightly. “And now we’re officially running late, so let’s go,” she says, grinning as she takes my hand.

Ordinarily, I might’ve chided her, or simply given her an “I told you so,” but not today, because everything about this day with her has been perfect, and that makes every single minute of lateness totally worth it in my book—and as I grab our bag, throwing it over my shoulder, she laces her fingers with mine, leading me out the door, and I’ve never been more certain she feels the exact same way. 

* * *

TBC in Chapter 2.2—Crazy Girl... Sterling's POV


	4. Crazy Girl—Sterling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sterling’s point-of-view as they talk about her fear and anxiety around the Twingate, and reflections on the day Sterling risked everything for a chance at their Someday…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimers and Other Assorted Ramblings: 
> 
> The characters Sterling and Blair Wesley and their parents, Debbie and Anderson, April and John Stevens, Ellen Johnson, Luke Creswell, Hannah B., and Ezequiel, and Willingham Academy, were created by Kathleen Jordan and are, unfortunately, owned by Netflix. The character Tessa Porter is owned by Bell Dramatic Serial Company, Corday Productions, CPT Holdings, Inc., and Sony Pictures Television. The character Emma Spencer-Rivera is owned by CBS/Telenext and Proctor & Gamble. The original character Jordan Montgomery-Kundera is the property of this author, and any resemblance to fictional characters, or real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. 
> 
> Rights to the song "Crazy Girl" by the Eli Young Band from their album "Life at Best" belong Republic Nashville. Rights to the song "Supercut" by Lorde from her sophomore album "Melodrama" belong to Sony/ATV Publishing.
> 
> No copyright infringement intended with regard to Netflix, Bell Dramatic Serial Company, Corday Productions, CPT Holdings, Inc., Sony Pictures Television, CBS/Telenext, Proctor & Gamble, Republic Nashville, or any other entity. With the exception of brief references to episode content, the dialogue and story content in these scenes are original. Written for fun, not profit. All other standard disclaimers apply. 
> 
> Rating: This second submission to the series is rated PG-13, but overall, The Supercut Chronicles will reach NC-17. 
> 
> Final Notes: As many of you already know, I tend to approach storytelling through flashbacks, thus, it will be important to pay attention to the dates, times, and locations as we move forward (and flash back) through the anthology of their shared experiences. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Kimberly

**The Supercut Chronicles: Anthology of Us**

Copyright November 2020

“ _Crazy girl, don’t you know that I love you?_

 _I wouldn’t dream of goin’ nowhere…_ ”

— Eli Young Band, _Crazy Girl_

Chapter 2.2— _Crazy Girl_ :

**_The Prism, a BGRC Property in Provincetown, Massachusetts—Saturday, June 14, 2025, 11:30 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time_ **

We’re totally _late_.

And I know how much she hates that.

Not that it makes her angry. It’s more of an anxiety response, borne of years of trying to gain and maintain her father’s approval. I’m blessed when it comes to that—I’ve never had to worry about my father’s approval. I know it, and I’m beyond grateful. But I do understand what anxiety is like, and in the moment I’m thankful that feeling anxious doesn’t come out as anger for her, because right now, I feel like I’m losing my mind. I’ve been running around half-naked for the last hour because I can’t decide what to wear, or how to fix my hair, or even what shoes to wear! And I know it sounds ridiculous, but everything has to be _perfect_ , so I ask her again, for probably the millionth time whether she’s certain these gray pinstriped pants aren’t “too casual” for our afternoon outing on Jordan’s sailboat. She’s my best friend from undergrad, by the way, and Emma—the woman she’s been pining over for the past four years—finally got her head out of her…

Well, let’s just say she finally got a clue, and they’re together now, and I’m so super excited to see them actually _being_ together because Jordan is totally amazing, and I want her to be as happy as I am with April. 

Anyway, I’m frantically digging through my suitcase for like the tenth time, stressing over which shirt would be best to wear for an afternoon out on the water, and when I come up empty once again, I turn on my heel heading toward the hotel dresser where I know every single piece of April’s wardrobe is perfectly folded and tucked away. But as I move past her, she launches from the edge of the bed, wrapping her arms around my waist from behind. Pressing into me, she peers around my shoulder, and I know for at least a moment I look confused.

And then I see the playful expression in her eyes. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I have some competition for my girlfriend’s attention,” she says lightly.

Laughing, I lean over, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, knowing that anyone who’s blessed enough to have a love like hers would be a fool to ever stray. “Not since the first time you kissed me,” I whisper to her, and her eyes tell me she believes every word.

She brushes a kiss against my shoulder, as she holds me from behind, and I relax, sinking into her embrace. It feels safe here in this moment with her, and I crave more of it. “Then why are you so nervous, Love?” she asks, resting her chin on my shoulder as she directs my attention to my own reflection in the full-length mirror across the room. “You’re breathtaking,” she whispers softly. “No matter what you wear, or how you fix your hair, or do your make-up, or anything else. Not to mention, you’re the most incredible human I know.”

My heart swells from the sincerity in her voice, as I wonder, not for the first time, what I ever did to deserve someone who loves me the way she does. I’m overcome by it, and I feel powerless to stop myself from expressing it. “I love you so much,” I hear myself growl as I turn to her, kissing her passionately. 

“And I love you more,” she whispers into my mouth, and more than anything, I want to lose myself in her, in this moment, and I know that she does too. But she holds back, knowing it’s the right thing for me in the long run. “Which is why I’m not letting this one slide.”

“Darn it,” I sigh, releasing her from our kiss, but not from my embrace. Though it’s often one of my favorite things about us, sometimes I hate that she can read me so well. This is definitely one of those times, because this is the last thing I want to talk about today. “I was hoping you’d forget about that.”

A brief laugh trips from her lips as she gives me that look—the one that says, “Yeah, I know,” even as the words spill from her lips, and my face adopts a pout, causing her eyebrow to vault in response. “Spill it, Sterl,” she insists. 

I feel a frown form on my face, as my emotions become too much to bear. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, April,” I confess, fighting back the tears that suddenly overwhelm. 

She responds by holding me more tightly as she moves to my side. “Come on,” she urges, gently encouraging me to accompany her. And then she’s moving us toward the sofa. “Sit with me.”

It doesn’t even cross my mind to resist. I know she has my best interest at heart, and as soon as we’re settled, she turns to me, pressing another kiss against my shoulder. “Tell me what’s going on,” she says with gentle insistence.

There are so many thoughts racing through my head, and it’s hard to settle on anything that makes sense. But I try, because I know I need to talk these feelings through, even if it’s hard. And I also know that she won’t judge me.

“I don’t know, it’s just… these people are like… mega-rich,” I say, when I finally settle on a place to begin. “And of course, I’m certainly not poor. Not by any means. I grew up with more money than most, and I’m like… super-privileged, so I have no room to talk. But these people, they’re like, one-percenters, and though Jordan has never acted spoiled or privileged in any way, it’s not just her anymore, it’s Emma too! Between the two of them, they’re like the richest twenty-something couple on the planet.”

“That may be true,” she says, readily conceding my point. “But I’m a one-percenter, Sterl,” she gently reminds me, and in my head, I acknowledge her truth. “And that’s never bothered you.”

She pauses then, and I wonder what she’s thinking. Whatever it is, it looks painful. “Or… has it?” she asks, and I realize why she looks so pained—she’s not accustomed to thinking she’s wrong! That realization makes me giggle a little inside, but I work hard to keep a poker face. She says I’m not very good at that, so I decide to prove her wrong.

“What? No!” I exclaim, turning to meet her gaze. “But… you’re April, and… you love me,” I reason, because… well, because it’s true!

And then she’s smiling at me as she nods. “Yes, I do love you,” she says with affection. “So does Jordan. And you’ve known Emma for a while now, so that doesn’t compute,” she challenges, fearlessly calling me out. “What’s really going on here?”

The air around us stills, and again, my mind is moving through a million thoughts all at once, and when she looks into my eyes, I know she can see right through to the heart of it all. She’s always been able to do that. “This is about your parents,” she says to me, knowing that it’s true, and all that I can offer in response is a weak nod as I collapse against her, the tears that I’ve been holding in for what seems like days, beginning to fall.

Curling myself around her body, I settle into the safety of her arms, clinging to her as I sob, drenching her sweatshirt with my tears. And she simply holds me, whispering to me, encouraging me to let it all out, promising that everything will be okay, as she runs her fingers through my hair, dropping kisses here and there—letting me know that I matter, and simply being herself, which is exactly what I need right now. 

I don’t even know how long I cried, but when the tears finally subsided, I feel weak and needy the way I did that night when I told her about Dana, and my first instinct was to apologize.

“I’m so sorry, April,” I say to her anxiously when I finally find my voice again. “I thought I was over all of this; that I’d worked it all out in therapy, but… I guess I was wrong. Way wrong. And I’m so sorry…”

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Sterl,” she reassures me as she wipes away my tears. “They lied to you, not the other way around.”

“I know,” I say, making a sniffling sound that seems super gross even to me. I honestly don’t know how she can stand me sometimes. I mean seriously—that’s love. “And they lied to protect me. I understand that, but… it doesn’t make it hurt any less. Or help me feel any more like her daughter.”

“Yeah, I know, Honey,” she says, threading her fingers through my hair.

She tucks a piece of it away from my face, as I sniffle again, grossing myself out. “Debbie, that is. Not Dana,” I clarify. “Though some days I feel more like Dana’s daughter than I’d like.”

“Which… is why this thing with Jordan and Emma is bothering you,” she says knowingly, and all I can do is nod against her chest as I cling to her desperately, willing the tears to stay away.

She pulls me closer, and I don’t resist. Instead, I snuggle deeper because I need her. And she’s so tender with me, always, and I feel protected, loved. I’ve teased her sometimes about what a Pitbull she can be—gentle with her people, and rabid with anyone who threatens them, especially me; and though she would probably deny it, I’ve seen her go rogue over Blair a few times as well. Despite her vehement protests, I know she loves my sister. 

“I know this must seem silly, the money thing and all,” I say, feeling completely ridiculous for this over-the-top display of emotion over something I should’ve been over years ago. “I mean, so what if Debbie isn’t my bio mom. She’s the only mom I’ve ever known. And Dad is still my dad, and even if Blair isn’t my twin, she is still my sister—my half-sister, anyway, which is still totally weird to say but like, whatever… and it’s the Wesley side of the family that comes from money, but…”

 _Is that it?_ I wonder. _Am I still struggling to feel like a legit Wesley?_ Which would be a whole new level of ridiculous in and of itself, because Anderson Wesley is definitely my father. When Dana first blurted out that I was her daughter, my immediate thought was: _That creepy Levi dude is my bio dad. Gross. He looks like a child molester._ _Jesus,_ please _don’t make it so!_

But then the dust settled, and mom and dad finally told us the whole truth. That it was Dana who was on the double date with Dad that night at the shooting range, and Dana who won that Sharp Shooter Award Uncle Deacon told Blair about when they were out hunting with Dad and Big Daddy, and then later that night, well… I’m sure you can guess.

The next morning, Dana couldn’t wait to brag about what she’d done, because that’s what she does—she finds ways to hurt Mom because she has this crazy idea that Mom thinks she’s better, which totally isn’t true. I mean, I think Mom is a better person, her life choices are a testament to that, but she never held that over Dana’s head. Dana did that to herself. But anyway, obviously Mom was crushed. She went to Daddy right away and told him about Dana, and what she’d done. She never admitted it to us, but I think it really hurt her that Daddy didn’t realize it wasn’t her that night, but then again, how would that ever cross his mind when he didn’t know she had an identical twin? I think that’s probably why she was able to forgive him and let it go, and I’m so glad because I got to grow up with two amazing parents, and the best twin sister who ever existed. So knowing all that, why on earth am I still hung up on this?

That’s the question I’m mulling over when I hear her voice, drawing me back to the present.

“It’s not silly at all,” she reassures me. Her voice is gentle, but firm in her conviction. “Your experiences, your feelings about all of this, are valid, Sterl, no matter what anyone else says or even thinks. You and Blair are the ones who were hurt the most, and no one has the right to dictate how either of you feel about it, or how long it should take you to heal.”

“I really do love you,” I say to her on a soft giggle, but I know from the expression in her eyes that she knows I’m being sincere.

“I know,” she whispers to me, pressing a kiss to my temple. “And I love you. Endlessly.”

My heart does that little flip-flop thing in my chest, and once again, I wonder what I ever did to deserve her. And then I briefly reflect back to the day of the debate tournament, and how she told me how wrong she was to think our relationship couldn’t get any worse. That totally stung. And then a few days later, we embarked on this incredible journey together—the one that brought us here, to this place with each other, this moment in time.

Not gonna lie, it hasn’t always been smooth, but I mean, what relationship is when it’s one that really matters? My parents are a perfect example of that, especially given the whole Dana thing. And they’ve had rough spots through the years, but like Mom says about old love and the heart’s muscle memory—it reminds you of all the reasons love was there to begin with.

Not gonna lie, it hasn’t always been smooth, but I mean, what relationship is when it’s one that really matters? My parents are a perfect example of that, especially given the whole Dana thing. And they’ve had rough spots through the years, but like Mom says about old love and the heart’s muscle memory—it reminds you of all the reasons love was there to begin with.

Oh, by the way, Blair told me about that conversation after she was finished being angry with me over not showing up that night; and I thought it was the greatest lesson Mom ever taught us, even though she didn’t teach it to me directly.

But anyway, April and I have struggled our way through our fair share of rough patches over the years, including the misunderstanding back in the fifth grade, but it always comes back to us, and the love we share. So here I am, wondering what I ever did to deserve someone who loves me so endlessly, and as I do, I smile at her through my tears. “Lucky me,” I whisper, stretching upward to skim my mouth against hers.

“Lucky _us_ ,” she whispers to me, kissing me again.

“Speaking of the richest twenty-something couple on the planet…” I say randomly, her kiss still lingering on my lips. “You know who could’ve given Jordan and Emma a run for their money?”

She arches that eyebrow, and I know I’ve caught her attention. I squeal a little inside as she dares to ask, “Who?”

“Taylor and Katy—if they’d gotten their crap together sooner,” I answer, feeling practically giddy inside. I know it’s ridiculous, but I’ve been shipping them since before the whole “Bad Blood” kerfuffle, and I am never giving up on my dream.

“Taylor… and Katy,” she says, enunciating their names as if she’s contemplating very carefully. I know she is, because she’s making that face.

“Yup,” I confirm, and she just gives me that look—the one that says she thinks I’m nuts, but she also hopes I’m right.

“What?” I say, feigning innocence. “You know their history, the ‘Bad Blood’ and all. I mean, I know it’s only been rumored that that song was about the trouble between them, and even then, they tried to play it off as some platonic ‘breakup,’ but like, come on, really? And you and I both know from our own experience the raw passion that simmers beneath the surface when there’s that kind of tension between two people.”

“Sterling…” she says, with a note of caution in her tone, and I just give her that look—the one that tells her I know she knows I’m right. She tries to stay pokerfaced, but I can tell she’s amused, and that only encourages me, so of course, I continue.

“And you’ve seen the pictures of them together. Like, are you kidding me? They _sizzle_. And the ‘You Need to Calm Down’ video that was so chock-full of gay it made the San Francisco Pride Parade look like a MAGA March. I mean, they were dressed up as a cheeseburger and fries, April,” I say, as if that should settle things forever. “Seriously, has a more perfect pairing ever existed?”

The expression on her face tells me she has no other choice but to admit that I’m right, and I struggle to hold back the squeal that’s bubbling up inside me.

“No,” she begrudgingly admits, and I can tell how much that pains her. “I suppose not.”

“I’m tellin’ you, there’s somethin’ there,” I proclaim once again, certain in my conviction no matter how ridiculous it might sound.

And then she’s laughing at me, probably because she’s at a loss for words, and as always, the sound is music to my soul. I open my mouth to say something else, and that’s when she takes my face in her hands, kissing me soundly.

“I love you, Crazy Girl,” she says with such affection that I swear I’m about to cry. And then in an instant, romantic April is gone, momentarily replaced by the Buzzkill April of old, as she says, “Now will you please go put a shirt on so we can get to lunch before it’s dinner time? We’ve kept Jordan and Emma waiting long enough.”

“Oh, they’re not waiting,” I mention casually, purposefully throwing her off her game. “I texted Jordan an hour ago and told her we were running late because you couldn’t decide what to wear.”

“You what?” she says almost disbelievingly, and I can tell by the look on her face that she can’t decide whether she should laugh… or strangle me. “I decided on jeans and this Harvard hoodie the moment I rolled out of bed.”

“Did you though?” I grimace, slowly eyeing her up and down as obviously as I checked her out that day at the debate tournament, when she told me that she lifts. “Compared to you, I’m feeling a little overdressed.”

“Not without a shirt, you’re not,” she says, challenge in her tone. “Now would you please go throw on some jeans and a sweatshirt, so we can get out of here?”

“Okay, fine, but I’m stealing the new Yale one my parents got you for graduation,” I declare as I hop up from the sofa, beating a path across our hotel room toward the dresser where I know she has every last piece of clothing she brought with her neatly tucked away. Not that I’m messy, by any means, but I often berate myself for not being more like her when it comes to things like that. The good thing is, I know that as much as it drives her crazy, she loves me more than she hates my bad habits.

“Don’t you dare!” she practically shrieks as she clambers to catch up to me. “I haven’t even worn that one yet.”

“Too late,” I taunt, a rather smug grin on my face as I yank it from the drawer and pull it over my head before she can do anything to stop me. I feel a little too much like Blair in that moment, and instantly regret it. But I’m committed to it now, so there’s no turning back.

She stops dead in the middle of the room, and plants a hand on her hip, and I realize what I’ve really started as she gives me that look—the one that says, _Really?_ “Seriously, Sterl?” she says in a less-than-amused tone. “That’s like, the equivalent of licking every muffin in the box just to keep Blair from getting any of them.”

I hadn’t anticipated that, but I recognize a prime opportunity when I hear one, and I smirk. A millisecond later, she’s nodding because she knows she deserves whatever’s coming next. “It’s not even close,” I assert, rolling my eyes because she’s being so extra. “But since you brought it up, I’ve only ever been interested in licking your muffin, Love,” I say, flirtatiously emphasizing my interest in one specific muffin and its owner.

I can tell her entire body is in flames, because the tips of her ears look like they’re on fire, but it’s the expression on her face that gives me pause. It’s her game face, and I realize I have only myself to blame.

“Fine,” she says in a tone that says, _Game. On._ as she casts a glance across the room. My eyes follow hers, and I realize she’s set her sights on my suitcase on the stand across the room.

 _Crap_.

Why can’t I learn to be more like her when it comes to things like actually unpacking when we’re visiting each other at school, or on vacation? If I had, she wouldn’t have the advantage on me right now.

“Then I’m calling dibs on that vintage Swiftie t-shirt my mom got you from her _Fearless_ tour,” she says, her body already poised for the kill.

“You wouldn’t,” I practically dare her, only to realize that will only spur her on.

“Oh, I would,” she replies, lunging toward suitcase. 

“But your boobs are bigger than mine; you’ll stretch it out,” I whine as I move across the room hoping to stop her, and she just laughs as she grasps me around the waist and kisses me. “My boobs are not bigger,” she says with confidence. “And besides, I don’t really want your t-shirt, Love,” she assures me, kissing me again.

“Well, thank goodness,” I say, feeling all kinds of relieved. “For a minute there you were starting to act way too much like Blair. After your comment about the muffins, I thought you might even do something gross like, lick it or… whatever.”

That eyebrow arches in a very specific way, and instinctively I know she’s about to start making a list. She doesn’t disappoint.

“First, if I _were_ inclined to lick something of yours, a t-shirt would not be my go-to,” she says, looking quite amused with herself over the extreme flush her comment has manifested across my face. If I’m being honest, I know that I totally deserved it. “And second, you started it,” she takes pleasure in reminding me. “And you were acting as much like Blair as I was.”

I open my mouth to protest, and then close it again and scrunch up my nose, as I consider her accusation. It kills me to admit it, but she’s right. “I was, wasn’t I?” I say, more audible realization than question.

“‘fraid so, Honey,” she grimaces, and we frown in unison.

“We’re totally screwed,” I say with a sigh, and her only retort is to laugh which, quite honestly, totally turns me on, and I can’t help myself. I grab her face, kissing her passionately as I maneuver us backward toward the bed.

“Not that I’m complaining,” she verbalizes into our kiss, “but… what are you doing?”

I can’t help but grin against her mouth. “Well, I figure if we’re gonna be screwed anyway, it should at least feel good,” I reason. “And then there was that whole comment about licking something other than my t-shirt…”

She laughs. Like, a full belly laugh, this time, and it causes that sense of joy to bubble up in my heart once again.

“Can’t argue with… any of that, really,” she admits, willingly surrendering to me as I push her down on our bed, climbing on top of her. And she’s looking up at me, that impish grin playing across perfect lips. “Speaking of licking things, just… don’t forget my muffin,” she says in a sultry voice, and then I’m laughing with her, because there’s nothing I love more.

 _Well, almost nothing_ , I think to myself as I cover her mouth, and then her body, with my own.

What feels like only a moment later, our clothing is a mess—and some of mine are actually missing. She always has been rather adept at getting me out of my clothing. Not that I’m complaining, obviously, but anyway… Though our encounter is quick, it’s also extremely gratifying, especially the way she clutches first my body, and then my hair as cries out, calling my name as she comes undone in my arms, and then again in my mouth.

She always marvels at how responsive I am to her, and what an incredible experience that is for her to know that despite my previous experiences, she’s the only one who has ever given that to me. I feel the same way, and she knows that, but what she’ll never fully understand is how deeply it impacts me each time she trusts me enough to let me in, especially during these moments of such deep intimacy, that complete and total vulnerability where I literally feel her heart, mind, body, and soul connecting with mine in a place that only we two share.

_God, how desperately I love her…_

And as I kiss her again, the taste of her still lingering on my lips, on my tongue, I take my time, kissing her slowly, deeply—a promise of more, later, always—and I tell her again just how much I love her. And then I hold her close, praying that she knows it deep down in her soul, because that’s where she resides within me, always.

Several minutes later, as I slip from our bed into the bathroom to untangle the mess she’s made of my hair, I smile to myself, thinking again how incredibly blessed I am to have her, and how grateful I feel for her willingness to forgive, and open herself up to our _Someday_. If she hadn’t been so open to me that day, we wouldn’t be where we are right now. And right now, is absolute perfection. 

* * *

**_Duck Pond Park, Atlanta, Georgia—Wednesday, March 25, 2020, 6:15 p.m. Eastern Standard Time_ **

I literally have no idea how long we were there, making out on that park bench, but at some point I manage to coax her back to the car with promises of things I’d like to do to her that can’t be done in public—at least without risk of arrest—and she looks at me with a mixture of shock and awe on her face. And then we’re scrambling toward the Volt, both of us eager to reach our destination. And as April likes to say, we spent the next several hours “doing just about everything short of actually _doing it_.”

If Blair hadn’t interrupted us, I think we would’ve gotten there despite April’s resolve to “not be a teenage cliché,” or the painfully slow burn that ensued even after she decided being a cliché wasn’t such a terrible thing after all. But at least it gave us a little preview of what’s to, uh… come. And in between, we found plenty of opportunity to make long-lasting memories, including the sharing of some of our deepest held truths and fears, and a rather stimulating conversation about the cultural significance of yet another Taylor Swift video in our lives, because, well, _Taylor_ …

“Omigosh, I’ve been meaning to ask you: What do you think about Taylor’s Video of the Year at last years’ MTV Awards?” I blurt out excitedly the moment I remember it, because I know her level of admiration for Taylor rivals my own. It’s one of the things that bonded us so tightly when we were younger. That, and our mutual love of _Flamin’ Hot® Cheetos_ and all things _Disney_. I mean, we were in grade school, after all. 

But anyway, she grins at me with that look in her eyes, and I know she’s about to say something snarky. I don’t do anything to dissuade her because secretly, I love that side of her. But if you ever tell her I said that, I’ll deny it completely. But I won’t call you a liar, because that would be just… rude.

“You mean the one that looks like a Pride parade on steroids?” she says in a tone that definitely does not disappoint.

“I mean Taylor and Katy!” I exclaim, all wide-eyed and excitable. I mean, I’ve been shipping these two since the moment I first caught a glimpse of them together at the 2008 MTV Music Video Awards!

Okay, so maybe not that far back—I was only four years old when that happened, but… it was a really long time ago. And besides, time is irrelevant when it comes to soulmates, and that’s what I think they are—just like April and me.

But anyway, once I extricate myself from the tangle of “K and Tay” musings, I find her looking at me with that raised eyebrow, and I know whatever comes out of her mouth next will be…

“I thought Blair was the one who’s known for crazy hookup theories,” she comments dryly before I can even finish my thought. Again, she doesn’t disappoint.

And yet, it stings a little. “It isn’t a crazy hookup theory,” I pout, feeling a bit misunderstood. “It’s a love connection.”

And then she’s laughing. “You are never gonna give up on that, are ya, Crazy Girl,” she says with affection, referring to me by the nickname she gave me back at summer camp when we were ten.

“Nope,” I say with a grin. “And besides, if Blair is the crazy one, then why do you call me ‘Crazy Girl’?”

She makes a face at me as she formulates her response, and I have to stifle a giggle because she can be so animated sometimes—and believe me, that’s saying something, coming from me!

“You followed your nutbag sister off a cliff!” she exclaims, sounding as if that should explain absolutely everything.

In truth, it actually does, because I stop, my mouth wide open as I think about what she’s said. I did, in fact, do something that crazy, but in my defense, I was only trying to get her attention. I mean, she’d been ignoring me since the beginning of fifth grade, and I missed her! _Terribly_. But once I realized I had no room to argue, I release a sigh of concession, “Point taken,” I relent. “But I’m tellin’ you, April…”

And then she’s shaking her head as she laughs softly. “Okay, okay, I won’t argue,” she says, raising her hands in surrender. “You and I are proof positive that nothing is impossible.”

That makes me smile real big, and I clap my hands excitedly as I let out a squeal, causing her to laugh again, which I love. And then I just can’t help myself. I wrap my arms around her and pull her close. “You’re absolutely right,” I say softly, feeling completely positive about the two of us. “Nothing’s impossible for us, April. You and I, we can have it all.”

Leaning into me, she skims her mouth across mine in a light kiss as she casually drapes her arms around my neck—another thing that I really love because it brings us even closer. “Yes, we can,” she agrees, her voice a quiet whisper as she presses her forehead against mine. “And this time, I promise not to hold anything back from you.”

How is it possible that this is going so well? Until a few hours ago, she wasn’t even speaking to me unless there wasn’t another choice, and now, she’s promising she’ll never hold back from me again. Gosh, I seriously feel like I just won the lottery or something. Not that I would play the lottery. I mean, gambling and all, but still, I feel like… so freaking happy right now, and I don’t ever want to do anything to ruin that, so I vow the one thing I know will matter to her the most: “And I promise not to push too far, too fast,” I quietly pledge, feeling my heart swell in my chest. 

And then she’s kissing me again, and immediately I feel something shift between us. This kiss is… different, more… suggestive, and I’m helpless to stop the soft moan that slips from my lips when I feel the warmth of her mouth moving along my jaw line. I think it bolsters her courage, because her voice is soft and sultry as she whispers against my ear, “What if I want you to push sometimes?” 

I feel a bolt of heat flash through my body, and paradoxically, it makes me shiver. _That’s_ never happened before, but I like it, like… a lot. Leaning back, I lock into her gaze. “You mean, like… now?” I ask, slowly searching her hazy blue eyes.

This sweet sort of bashful expression tiptoes across her face, and she nibbles her bottom lip adorably, and I’m so drawn to her that I can’t help myself. I smile at her, and kiss her, my fingers weaving into her hair as I slip an arm around her waist, pulling her against me as I lean back into the quilt behind me. It’s not the first time tonight that I find myself in this position with her, and I’ve gotta say, I’m not minding it one single little bit because she’s on top of me again, and her body is so soft against mine.

The slightest shift of my legs, and she slips between my thighs, pressing against me in all the right places, and my body responds instinctively, sending flashes of that same heat I was feeling a few moments ago splaying through my body.

And then she shifts upward, her body grazing mine, and I feel a raspy moan slip from my lips, along with her name. Her body jerks in response, and then she’s threading her fingers through my hair, as her tongue slides deep into my mouth, short-circuiting my brain. And as I lose all awareness of space and time, there’s only her, the press of her body as she moves against me, and the sensation of her tongue gliding against my own. 

* * *

**_Duck Pond Park, Atlanta, Georgia—Wednesday, March 25, 2020, 7:45 p.m. Eastern Standard Time_ **

Somewhere along the line, I sort of put the brakes on things, though honestly, at the moment, I can’t even fathom why. Because I want her. _Desperately_. I mean, don’t even get me started about how turned on I am right now. And I know that she wants me. It’s evident in the way she touches me, the sounds she makes and the way her body responds when I touch her, and I seriously cannot wait for it to finally happens between us. I can already tell it’s gonna be like, super intense.

But for now, she’s lying here in my arms, her body wrapped around mine, touching on every possible plane. And gosh, her skin is so soft, and the nerve endings in my fingertips send pleasure signals to my brain as they gently caress her arm, and I feel a sense of contentment I never thought possible. Don’t get me wrong, I always felt safe, protected, and loved with Luke, but… it never felt like this. It’s a sense of belonging that I can’t even describe. All I know is that I never want it to end. 

So as we’re laying here, the opening notes of “Supercut” catch me unawares as my “April Playlist” runs its course from my phone that’s somehow found its way to the floorboard again, and I begin to hum along to the tune that’s playing in my brain… _In your car, the radio up. In your car, the radio up. We keep tryin' to talk about us. Slow motion, I'm watchin' our love. I'll be your quiet afternoon crush. Be your violent overnight rush. Make you crazy over my touch. But it's just a supercut of us…_

And as lyrics play out, I literally watch a supercut of us in my head—moments where we giggled beneath the covers during a sleepover when we were little, sports and competitive activities at summer camp, especially Church camp, where we battled it out for the top spot in Word Club—the scripture memorization competition—images of us laughing together, and that smile that warms every part of me, heart and soul, and the conversations we had about us, about what it meant to be together—those moments in the Fellowship Room where we talked for the first time about _Us_ … as a _thing_ , the sidewalk outside the library, where we debated the affirmative versus the negative points of being together, because debate is where she excels—though that time I clearly won—and moments spent in this car and in this park, where we talked about things, revealed truths neither of us ever thought we would, and yet, here we are, and she’s lying in my arms exactly where she’s always belonged.

Suddenly, I feel an intense need to be closer to her, so I pull her against me, kissing the top of her head, and I revel in the way she snuggles deeper into my embrace, tightening her hold around my waist. 

“This song,” she says, her tone tentative yet curious, as she stretches up, skimming her lips against my chin. “It was playing when you started the car earlier.”

I’m curious as well, especially given her apparent hesitancy, and I’m open to whatever she says to me. I hope my tone reflects that as I say, “What about it?”

“I’ve listened to it a lot these past few months,” she confesses, avoiding my gaze. “Like… all the time.”

“Oh? And why is that?” I ask, even more curious now, though if I’m being honest, I’m not really all that surprised to hear it. We’ve always shared similar tastes in music. It’s one of the things that has always connected us, even when things were rough in our relationship—like when she discovered Tessa Porter a couple of years ago and texted me with the link to the streaming service where her music was available. Tessa is now my favorite singer/songwriter, by far, and I never would’ve known about her if it weren’t for April.

I heard Tessa’s on tour this Spring, and I hope we get a chance to see her live, but… right now, I can’t wait to hear what April has to say about Supercut. She definitely doesn’t disappoint. 

“Because… it’s everything I’ve been thinking and feeling. Everything I’ve wanted to say,” she shares, and I feel her body stiffen against mine. It’s instinctual, I know, because she’s afraid of the fallout from what she’s just confessed, and an odd mixture of excitement, sadness, and anger strikes me at her admission, and I grapple with it for a moment. I’m excited to know she’s been thinking of me, of _us_ , all this time. But sad at the same time to think about how much she’s been hurting these past several months. And most of all, I’m angry at the man I know caused her to feel the way she’s feeling now, which is terrified of how I’m going to respond.

More than anything, I want her to know that she’s safe with me. Always. That no matter how she’s feeling, it’s okay to be honest with me, knowing that she won’t be judged, humiliated, or ridiculed, no matter what, because her feelings are valid, and I want her to share them with me.

“Wanna know a secret?” I whisper to her, kissing the top of her head as my fingertips sift through her soft honeyed locks.

A moment later, I feel the smile that plays across her lips when her cheek moves against the edge of my breast where it’s pillowed there, and then her body relaxes against me as she snuggles closer. “I wanna know all your secrets,” she whispers to me, and I can’t help but smile.

“I’ve listened to it a lot too,” I confess openly, because I want her to truly know she was never alone. “Like a lot, a lot.”

“Why?” she asks, curiosity returning to her tone.

“Same reason as you,” I answer simply, and I smile as I hear the lightest sigh of relief slip from her lips, and she tightens her hold around my waist. “So many times, I wanted to reach out to you, April,” I tell her honestly. “To call you and tell you how sorry I was for pushing you so hard. To make sure you were doing okay, because… you just seemed so unhappy, and it made me feel so sad.”

“Why didn’t you?” she asks, though I’m certain she already knows the answer.

“Because you asked me for space, and I needed to honor that,” I answer honestly.

Shifting upward, she leans on her forearm beside me, gazing into my eyes, and I can’t help but think how beautiful she is in the moonlight that streams through the window. I’ve always thought she was the most gorgeous girl in school, and often wondered why she never dated. Now I know, and if I’m being honest, I have to admit I’m glad I got to be her first, and pray I’ll be her last.

“How are you always so selfless?” she asks me, her voice so tender and filled with awe as she draws me back into focus.

“Believe me, I’m not,” I say with a sharp laugh that I’m certain actually startles her a little because suddenly she’s asking, “What’s up, Sterl?”

I can tell by the expression in her eyes that she’s worried about me. Like, really worried, and suddenly I feel restless and exposed, but I promised I would never hold anything back from her again, so I find myself saying, “The last few months while you’ve been working on things with your dad, I’ve had a few… daddy issues of my own.” I pause for a moment, thinking about the entirety of the situation, and then add, “Mommy issues too, actually. And… to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure which has been harder.”

Empathy reflecting in her eyes, wordlessly, she reaches up, brushing her fingertips against my cheek. I can practically feel her heart breaking for me, despite not even knowing what’s really going on. “I’m so sorry, Sterl,” she whispers to me, and I feel so safe with her, knowing that she’s here for me even if I never said another word about what happened. “Anything I can do?”

A flash of sadness overwhelms me, and I feel the corners of my mouth turn downward, and then I’m aware of the slightest pain in my jaws because the muscles in my face aren’t accustomed to being tensed in this particular way. But I ignore it, because I can’t do anything to change the way I feel right now, and I really just need to be honest with her about where I am and why. “There’s no amount of anything that will change the truth,” I say. “So I just have to learn to live with it.”

I pause for just a moment, contemplating, because honestly, it’s a little scary to admit what I’m about to say. I mean, what if she judges me? What if she thinks I’m crazy? But before my brain can make up even more stories about how bad this might get, she’s smiling at me, and I begin to fend off those negative thoughts as I lock into her steady gaze. Finally, I say, “My therapist calls it ‘Radical Acceptance’,” admitting to her outright that I’m seeing a shrink.

And then I hold my breath, waiting for her impending response.

“Yeah, I get that,” she says with a sigh, and I begin to feel my anxiety waning. She didn’t act appalled, or even surprised, for that matter. And she didn’t pull away from me like I was some sort of leper or something, and I feel so much relief I can’t even articulate it.

“Radical Acceptance, I mean,” she clarifies “ _My_ therapist says I need to develop it to accept the fact that my dad is an abusive, racist, misogynistic, homophobic, xenophobic asshole, and there’s nothing I can do to change him. And that’s a hard pill to swallow, let me tell you.”

“Wait,” I say, feeling both excited and surprised, and even a little bit less alone. I can’t believe she sees a counselor! I never would’ve guessed because she always seems like she has her crap together, like… she’s so stable. “You have a therapist too?”

Her gaze shifts, and the expression on her face tells me everything I need to know: She’s experiencing the same sense of unworthiness and shame that I was feeling before I told her about Paige. And then something shifts in her, and I begin to see that fierce determination flashing in the deep blue of her eyes again as she returns to my gaze. “Yes,” she says, almost smugly, and I’m reminded a little of that day at the Fun Zone, when she told me she knew God wouldn’t smite her for being a lesbian, and I can’t help but smile at her as I ask, “And they actually said that about your dad?”

I have to admit that I’m just a little bit amused by the idea, and clearly she is too, because she’s smiling back at me as she shrugs and says, “Well, not in so many words, but… you get the idea.”

Reaching for her, I gently touch her arm, giving it an affectionate squeeze. “So I guess things really have been rough with your dad,” I say empathetically, hoping she takes it as an invitation if she wants to talk because I want to bet here for her, but I promised not to push.

She looks as though she’s about to cry as she nods in response, and I reach up, stroking her cheek with the backs of my fingers. “I’m so sorry, April,” I say softly, my heart nearly breaking for her. “I know what it meant to you to fix your relationship with him. I can’t imagine how much this must hurt.”

“It sucks, for sure,” she says, and I can tell that the admission is painful despite her valiant effort to hide it. “But it is, what it is, right?”

That last part comes out as avoidance, rather than radical acceptance, but I let it go because she’s already in enough pain. I can tell that she’s grateful as she swallows hard, and peers up into my eyes. “My parents… they’re uh, they’re separating, which we all know ultimately means a divorce,” she shares, her voice trembling with emotion, and my entire world is rocked again—almost as forcefully as it was when I learned the truth about Dana.

A softly expelled “Oh—,” is all I can manage as my heart breaks for her yet again. I remember how tense things were with my mom and dad right before the truth came out about Dana, and the sadness and anxiety I felt was overwhelming even though I knew in my heart my family would be okay, so I can’t even imagine what she must be feeling right now. Everything in me wants to pull her close and hold her tight, and promise her everything will be okay, but the truth is, I don’t know that it will be, and I would never want to give her false hope or cause her any more pain. 

“That’s why my mom suggested therapy,” she explains. “But it’s not why I agreed. I’m not the least bit sorry about the separation, or divorce, or whatever they’re calling it. My mom deserves so much better than him.”

“Why did you agree?” I ask out of curiosity and concern, hoping there isn’t anything worse going on for her. She’s been through enough already.

“You…,” she intones, and for a moment I think she’s saying I was what sent her to therapy, and I start to feel anxious, but then I realize the roguish smile that plays on her lips belies the seriousness of her tone, and I relax as she says, “are a master of deflection. We were talking about you!”

“Yes, we were,” I’m quick to agree, but I’m not letting her wiggle out of this so easily, so I add, “And now, we’re talking about you.”

Her chest sinks as she releases a sigh of capitulation “Honestly?” she asks.

“Always,” I answer resolutely, because I truly do want her to be honest with me about anything, everything, always. 

“Because I needed a safe place to talk about you,” she replies, glimpsing at me to gauge my reaction, and I hope she doesn’t see how panicked I feel inside until she says, “About how you make me feel.”

And then I am powerless against the flirtatious smile that prances across my face as I realize this is a good thing. A very good thing. “And how is that?” I ask, delighting in the beautiful shade of crimson that colors her cheeks. And then my grin widens, and she’s making a face at me.

“Stop it,” she whines, which only makes me laugh, and causes her blush to further deepen.

Still, she’s the most beautiful girl in the world to me, and I can’t seem to get enough of her. I lean closer, nuzzling against her ear. “How do I make you feel, April?” I whisper to her, and then I watch to see the storm of thoughts and emotions that color her cheeks and eyes as she processes them, all the while waiting with bated breath for her reply. 

Finally, she asks, “You mean, like… right now?” her voice all breathy and sublime.

Leaning into her again, I smile against her ear and the warmth of my breath makes her whimper a little, which only makes me smile more. “Yes,” I whisper softly, as I nibble gently on her lobe, drawing a slight shiver in response. 

“Like my body’s on fire,” she exhales on a husky sigh.

“You didn’t tell your therapist that, did you?” I ask teasingly.

“Of course not,” she answers sharply. And then something inside her shifts, and she draws her gaze away.

I notice the change, and reach out to her, gently lifting her chin with my fingertips to coax her gaze back into mine. “What did you tell them?” I ask, knowing it was something important. Why else would she have looked away?

She blushes again, and her lips quiver as she looks into my eyes and answers. “That being with you makes me happier than I ever thought possible, and… I miss you like crazy.”

The sincerity in her tone makes my heart explode in my chest, and I smile into her eyes as I lean close, brushing my mouth against hers. “What a coincidence,” I murmur to her as I gaze into her eyes once again, “I feel the same exact way about being with you.”

“Yeah, but… you’re like, perpetually happy,” she says, offering me an excuse that feels sort of like a way out if I want to take it. But I don’t.

I tilt my head as I consider what I know of her, and land right on the missing piece. “You really don’t get it, do you?” I ask, truly blown away by the truth of it.

“Get what?” she asks, looking more confused than I think I’ve ever seen her, and I think to myself: _How could you possibly not know?_ It makes me sad for her, and a little angry with myself, for not making my feelings clearer from the very start. 

“How much you mean to me,” I say, my heart so full from the truth of it, yet nearly breaking because she doesn’t know. And clearly, it’s affecting her too, because out of nowhere her eyes are gleaming with tears, and I want so desperately to just hold her, but first, I need her to hear the truth. “April, I haven’t just been missing you since we broke up. I’ve been missing you since the fifth grade. Ellen was right. We were so close when we were younger, and…”

Her lips are quivering again as her eyes fill to the brim with unspent tears. “Inseparable,” she whispers with a sense of yearning and regret so strong that it makes my heart ache for both of us because I can relate so intimately with what she’s feeling. Those years are gone, and we’ll never get them back, and though I’m happy that those days are behind us, it still makes me sad and a little angry with myself for not fighting harder to save our friendship back then.

A moment later, that sadness turns to amusement as I remember how crazy it used to make Blair that April and I were so close. The nights she spent with us, having sleepovers where we were all piled up in my bed beneath a stack of blankets. Somehow, she always ended up between us, and Blair would get so frustrated that she would pout and just go to sleep, leaving April and I to cuddle, talking and laughing in our own secret little world. Those memories make me feel giddy, and then I’m grinning, trying hard to hold back the laughter as she asks, “What?”

And then I am laughing as I answer her, saying, “Blair hated that so much.”

“She really did, didn’t she,” April is quick to agree. “It’s no wonder she’s hates me so much, even now.”

“Blair doesn’t hate you. I promise,” I attempt to reassure her, mostly because I know it’s true, but also, I really need April to feel accepted by everyone in my family, especially Blair.

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” she says, with apprehension in her tone. 

“Yes, we will,” I say with conviction as I grin at her. “Anyway… enough about Blair!” I say, eager to get back to what I was saying before we got sidetracked by my sister. “We were talking about how much you mean to me,” I remind her gently.

She smiles at me a bit guiltily, and then her eyes flash with amusement. “You were saying?” she intones.

“You were my best friend, April,” I whisper softly to her, my heart aching from the truth of it. She was everything to me back then, and I’ve missed her so terribly that I could barely stand to acknowledge it. And I’m thinking about that as I continue, “Aside from my family, I don’t have a single happy childhood memory that doesn’t include you. And then you were gone, and my heart ached for you, but you were so angry with me, and I didn’t understand why.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but I silence her with a gentle hand against her arm as I gaze into her eyes. “I do now,” I assure her, wanting to set her at ease because I can tell she’s feeling guilty, “but back then, every time you would explode on me, or accuse me of being fake, it broke my heart because you matter so much to me. You always have.”

“I’m so sorry, Sterling,” she says to me, and I can tell by the pained expression in her eyes that her heart is aching for the pain she caused. “I—”

“Don’t, okay?” I say softly to her as I reach out, pressing the tips of my fingers against her lips to still her. I don’t want her to apologize any more than she already has, because I don’t really blame her for any of it. It was a misunderstanding, that’s all, and yes, it’s sad that we lost so much time, but we have to accept what is, instead of wishing for what was or could have been, or we’ll never find happiness in our lives. “We worked through all of that months ago,” I gently remind her, referring to a conversation we had on that quilt beneath our willow tree. “There’s no need to rehash it all now.”

She nods her understanding, and I feel an overwhelming need to simply touch her. I reach out cradling her face gently in my hand. “What I need you to understand right now is that this thing between us, it’s everything I never knew I needed—until it happened, and then everything finally made sense.”

Tiling her head, she leans her cheek into my hand as she offers that beautiful crooked smile that makes my heart flutter in my chest. “It did for me too. Though… if I’m being honest, it didn’t catch me off-guard like it did you,” she admits. “Well, the fact that you kissed me totally caught me off-guard, but… my response, that wasn’t a surprise at all—at least not to me. I’ve been crazy for you since pre-school, Sterl.”

The moment she shares her truth, I find myself revisiting that conversation in the Fellowship Room, where I’m pondering whether this thing between us has always been there, and was just, like… paralyzed or something. I remember the expression in her eyes, the knowing smile that played on her lips as I said it, and I realize that in that moment, she was answering my question—and not just for her, for me as well. She knew, without my ever saying it, that I’ve always loved her. That’s why it hurt so much when I lost her friendship back then. But now, that realization makes me smile, because I feel such a sense of joy in my spirit as I think about how much I really do love her, and always have.

Not that I could actually say that to her—at least not right now. I mean, seriously, Blair says that lesbians are prone to moving fast in relationships, but this feels like freaking warp speed or something, right? A couple weeks of kissing and nearly doing it in the backseat of my car, and I’m telling her I love her? She’ll think I’ve lost my freaking mind!

That doesn’t make it any less true, but still…

Instead of telling her how I feel, I smile at her, my heart filled with joy and just a touch of mischief, as I ask her, “What about Adele Meisner?”

She smiles at me, and a little giggle escapes, causing her face to flush again, and I find the whole thing completely adorable. And then she speaks, and I am not at all prepared for what I hear. “Adele Meisner never held a candle to you,” she declares, and my heart bursts into a million little pieces of confetti, and I know I have a ridiculously large smile on my face. “I just… distracted myself with her because I thought there was no way you would ever feel for me, what I feel for you.”

“Well, I do,” I declare without a moment’s hesitation, because she’s so open, so vulnerable to me, and I want her to know without a doubt that she’s not alone in this, that I’m right here with her and I always will be, and I watch as she takes in the truth of what I’ve just said. “And I think I always have.”

“Really?” she asks, seeking reassurance. The swirl of emotions in her eyes tell me she’s teetering between giddiness and uncertainty, and I know it’s because she’s so afraid of getting hurt. But hurting her is something I would never do, because she means everything to me. I pray that someday she will know that with a doubt, and in that moment, I purpose to make it so.

“Yeah. Really,” I whisper to her as my fingertips brush lightly across her face. And then I feel an inexplicable wave of sadness wash over me. “When you walked away, I felt such a profound sadness inside, April. And it took me a while to figure out why, because first I needed to figure out who I am,” I confess. And then I frown, and my face muscles hurt again, as I add, “All the mommy and daddy issues certainly didn’t help with that,” needing to admit it, but hoping she won’t make a thing of it.

She reaches over, taking my hand in hers, and my heart warms in my chest. “I’m here to listen, if you’re willing to share,” she says supportively as she gives my hand a gentle squeeze, and I breathe a sigh of relief that she’s not pushing, because that makes it easier to be open about everything. But first, I need to know that she won’t feel too overwhelmed.

“Are you sure it’s not too much for you?” I ask, genuinely concerned for her well-being. “I mean, you’re going through a lot right now, too.”

“I’m sure,” she says with certainty in her tone. “Please, tell me?”

The tenderness in her voice melts my heart, and suddenly I long to tell her every single detail of the last several months, but I know in my gut that it’s far too much to share all at once. “It’s a lot,” I warn, willing her to understand. “And I’m not really even sure where to start.”

“Well then, just… start with one fact,” she suggests wisely, and I’m grateful for the starting point—and for her.

“Okay,” I say, nodding my head. And then I pause, trying to settle on just one fact. And then it hits me, and I share, “My mother has an identical twin.”

“Oh,” she says, looking a little surprised, but trying hard to hide it. “Well, that makes sense,” she says reasonably, and I smile to myself thinking, _That’s so totally April_. “Twins do run in families.”

Knowing what she says is factually correct, I nod. “Yes, they do,” I readily agree. And then I take a breath, steadying myself for the rest of what I know is coming. “But… not in mine.”

She’s trying so hard not to react, and I feel for her because it’s painfully obvious that it’s not working. “I’m… sorry. I don’t understand,” she says helplessly.

I take another deep breath, this time releasing it loudly as I prepare to utter the truth to someone for only the second time since I first learned of it. The first time, of course, was to Paige, who was a stranger at the time. But this time is harder, because April knows us, and though she’s never said it, I know she loves us. _Both of us_. “Blair is my sister, but… she isn’t my twin, April,” she explains.

“But… you’re the same age,” she says, offering the obvious observation.

“Well, technically, she’s my half-sister,” I explain, and I know she feels the sadness I carry with me over the loss I so often feel when it comes to Blair. Not that anything has changed between us—we’re still as close as ever, but there’s a part of me that feels like an outsider sometimes, and no matter how hard I work on it in therapy, the truth of that never changes, and I feel… lost.

The expression on her face tells me she wants nothing more than to comfort me, as she calls to me. “Sterling…” she says, her voice a tender caress. But I hold up my free hand, grateful that the other is still clasped gently in hers, as I say, “Let me finish, okay?”

Before I even finish my request, she’s nodding, and I know she understands because her eyes are telling me she doesn’t want to make things any harder on me.

“Our dad is our dad, but… my mom’s twin, well… she’s my biological mother,” I explain, matter-of-factly, and I know she’s worried about me because she looking at me with those eyes, but I press on, needing her to fully understand.

“She’s… a little messed up,” I expound, “and I guess she’s always been kind of jealous of my mom, so… when my parents started dating, Dana—that’s her name—pulled a fast one and seduced my dad. He didn’t know about Dana—not yet anyway—and he thought she was my mom, and then Presto, Change-o: Nine months later, he found himself the proud papa to two baby girls, with identical twin mothers. Dana didn’t want a kid, but she’s super against abortion, so she agreed to let our parents raise us as twins, and now… here we are.”

I breathe an internal sigh of relief from knowing that it’s all out there now, and as I look at her, I know that her heart is hurting for me. When she reaches for me, I go willingly into her arms, and the moment I feel the warmth of her embrace, the damn breaks, and the tears begin to fall. And not just a sprinkle, but a full-on torrent that leaves my entire body shaking in her arms.

“I am so, so sorry, Honey,” she whispers to me as she pulls me closer against her body. “I’m right here with you; just let it all out,” she quietly encourages me, and I’m so incredibly grateful for the safety of her arms that I do let it all go.

I cling to her like she’s the only lifeline I have left, and cry until there are no more tears left within me, and then I crumble against her, physically and emotionally exhausted, and yet, for the first time in months, I feel a true sense of hope that I won’t always carry this burden alone. She leans back into the quilt, and I go with her willingly, as my body continues to convulse, despite the dearth of new tears.

“I had no idea you were going through all of this, Sterl,” she whispers against my hair. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you. I should have been…”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I say with quiet certainty because there was no way she could have known.

“It’s absolutely my fault,” she stubbornly insists, because even when it comes to her own actions that she deems bad or wrong, April Stevens never gives up without a fight. “I chose my asshole father over you and walked away when you needed me the most.”

“You chose your family, April,” I’m quick to point out. “I can’t fault you for that.”

“Would you have done the same?” she questions, that familiar tone of challenge in her voice.

“What?” I ask in confusion. 

“If you could choose to have your family back, fully intact, as if none of this were true, but you had to walk away from me to make it happen, would you?”

It’s an impossible question, and yet, there’s not a moment’s hesitation for me. Leaning back, I look her square in the eyes. “Never,” I say with a sense of conviction I didn’t even realize I possess.

“I rest my case,” she says, a hint of bittersweet satisfaction in her tone, and again, my heart aches for her.

“That’s really an unfair comparison, April,” I attempt to reason. “My family is still intact. It may not look the same from the inside, but I still get to be loved by the people I love. You had to give up the relationship with your dad.”

“I didn’t give anything up,” she argues fairly. “He threw it away.”

“Point taken,” I have no choice but to agree. “But the bottom line is: you don’t get to have that relationship with someone who has always been important to you, because maintaining the relationship forces you to compromise who you are, and what you value. I don’t have that battle. At least, not anymore.”

“Wait—you told your parents?”

She sounds a little freaked out, and her pulse is pounding so hard I can literally see the vein popping in her neck. A part of me understands that panic better than she knows, and I reach for her, gently touching her face. The moment I make contact, she begins to calm, but I can feel the edge of her anxiety still simmering near the surface. “I didn’t tell them about you,” I’m careful to reassure her. “I would never hurt you that way. But yes, I did tell them that I’m bisexual which, I totally figured out, like… finally. Months of therapy will do that to ya.”

I watch as the fear subsides, and she breathes a sigh of relief. “I’m really happy for you, Sterl,” she says to me, her voice filled with sincerity. “Sexuality is hard to define sometimes.”

Leaning down, I brush my mouth against hers. “I didn’t need to define it to understand how I feel about you,” I whisper softly.

“Hard same,” she says to me, looking at me with those eyes, that crooked grin that I find so endearing splayed across her beautiful face. “I had… no idea what a lesbian was when I first realized I was crushing on you,” she admits. “All I knew was that every minute I spent with you made me feel happier than the one before, and when I lost that, I was crushed—both times.”

Though I feel her pain, I can’t help but smile at her, knowing we’re beyond all of that now. “Well, you’ll never lose me again,” I solemnly vow.

“And you’ll never lose me,” she promises in return.

“More than anything, I wanna believe that’s true,” I say softly, looking to her for reassurance. 

She reaches for me, brushing a lock of hair from my eyes, her fingertips lingering on my face as her hand slowly slips away, and I feel absolutely cherished. “It is, I promise,” she says softly, her eyes filled with the promises her voice is making. “I prayed too hard to get you back, to ever risk losing you again. Most people never even get a second chance, and yet, you’ve given me a third. I wouldn’t dream of goin’ anywhere, Sterling.”

“Neither would I,” I whisper softly to her in return as I lean in, kissing her again. And this time, I know that we both believe it’s true. 

* * *

**_The Prism, a BGRC Property in Provincetown, Massachusetts—Saturday, June 14, 2025, 12:45 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time_ **

“Are we ready to roll?” I chirp happily as I return from the bathroom, pleased now with the look that I’ve thrown together for our afternoon on the water with Jordan and Emma. The way she’s looking at me, I know she approves because she seriously looks like she wants to… Well, she looks like she wishes we didn’t have plans, and I try hard not to smirk at the hunger reflected in her eyes. 

But true to form, she shrugs nonchalantly. “Or I could just have you for lunch,” she intones, and I’m certain there is little in my expression that hides how very interested I am in this idea. But much to my chagrin, we have plans, and I really do want to see Jordan and Emma. I’ve known Emma for a while now, thanks to her Facetime calls with Jordan, but we’ve never met in person which, in retrospect, is probably why I was freaking out so much earlier. But anyway, right now April is looking at me with those hungry eyes, and to be honest, I’m just as hungry for her, despite my recent… snack. So I give her a look that tells her exactly that, as I suggest a compromise. “How ‘bout for dinner, instead?”

She grins, and I stifle a giggle as she declares, “It’s a date.”

My face lights up with a wide smile, and I glance toward the nightstand, locking eyes on the car keys. I am dying to get my hands on that steering wheel, and she knows it, because she’s equally as enamored with the idea. “I am totally driving today,” I announce.

“Don’t even think about it,” she says in fierce warning, and I have to stifle a laugh at that streak of competitiveness. But I can’t blame her when it comes to this car, because the sleek metallic blue Aston Martin convertible that belongs to Jordan’s parents, is a true classic.

“I called dibs last night,” she reminds me. And I can’t help myself; I feel the grin spread slowly across my face.

“You snooze, you lose,” I torment, as I practically dive for the nightstand, grabbing the keys before she can even make it halfway across the room.

I had home court advantage on this one, no doubt, because the nightstand was only a few feet away from the bathroom door, but I’m definitely not going to apologize as I hold the prize up above my head as she wraps her arms around me from behind, and begins to wrestle with me, grabbing chaotically for the keys. She manages to get her hands on them a couple of times, but I’m able to keep them from her by dangling them over my head, because I know she’ll never be able to reach them.

But apparently in my moment of internal gloating, she gets the better of me, and jumps a little higher than I’d anticipated, almost grabbing them from my hand, but I twist away just in time, and turn to glance at her over my shoulder, as I protect the keys against my body. Years of battling it out with Blair has taught me a few crucial moves, and now I’m grateful. “Do I have to shove these keys down my jeans to keep you from taking them from me?” I ask, issuing a challenge I know she’ll accept, because she’s already smirking at me.

“I won’t hesitate to go after them,” she warns, as if that’s something I would protest.

I offer a smirk in return. “Promise?”

That eyebrow vaults, and I know she means business. “Don’t tempt me,” she warns, and I can’t help myself anymore. I burst into laughter as I toss her the keys.

“I just wanted to torture you for a minute,” I admit as she catches them like a pro.

“You really miss your sister, don’t you?” she says a bit smugly, and I know she has a point, so I make a face that tells her I know she’s right. 

“Is it that obvious?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“‘Lil bit,” she says, pinching her thumb and forefinger together.

I feel my face flush, and I know I look a little guilty because I really do miss Blair, even though I should just be grateful for the time I have here with April. And I am, of course, but like, it’s been so hard being separated from Blair for so long.

Sure, we have Facetime and Zoom, and probably a thousand other apps that connect us face-to-face, because technology—I mean, seriously, whoever created _The Jetsons_ was totally on point—but it’s just not the same thing as having her with me at college. At least with April, our schools were in the same state, less than a two-hour drive between us, so we managed to spend most weekends together, either on my campus or hers. But with Blair, she was all the way out on the West Coast, and the best we could do was technology except for the rare holiday when she was able to fly home.

A moment later, she’s reaching for me, her fingertips lightly touching my cheek to draw me back to her. “Hey,” she whispers to me, her voice soft and comforting, “it’s okay, you know. I miss her too.”

The fact that she feels that way about my sister means everything to me, because honestly, I never thought the day would come, and even if it did, I never would’ve believed she would actually admit it. Still, my emotions are running high around the subject of Blair right now, because as much as I love this time with April, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything, it was really hard to leave Blair again so soon after graduation. 

“I’ll drive next time,” I say as a means of distraction because I can’t really think about that right now, or I’ll end up in a puddle of tears again. “I’d rather watch you enjoy the experience.”

“You…” she says, dragging out the word as she wraps me in her embrace, pulling me against her, “are far too good to me.”

“We’re good to each other,” I declare, taking her face in my hands and kissing her tenderly. “And now we’re officially running late, so let’s go,” I announce, grinning at her as I take her hand in mine.

I expect to hear an “I told you so” from her in response to that announcement, but she surprises me by simply grabbing our bag and shouldering it, and as I entwine our fingers, I smile to myself, thinking about how totally blessed I am to have such a loving, supportive partner. And the smile on her face as I lead her out the door tells me she feels the exact same way. 

* * *

TBC in Chapter 3.1— _Crazy for This Girl_


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